


it's a risk, it's a gamble

by nondz (pinkjook)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Multi, a lot of singing, bearding: the fic, jonathan and nancy pine like a pair of trees, now with more sex!, steve and robin are best friends and nobody can take that from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 61,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkjook/pseuds/nondz
Summary: “I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says."What?" Steve answers.





	1. we can say that we're friends but let's be honest

**Author's Note:**

> me, staring at both robin and steve through tears: on GOD we gon get you some pussy, bro
> 
> on a more serious note, this fic was just an extremely long excuse to give robin a girlfriend, write about steve and robin as bffs, and write jonathan and nancy YEARNING for steve for a ridiculous amount of time. title from the song really shouldn't drink around you by teddy robb!

Robin has started crawling through his bedroom window. She nearly gave him a fuckin’ heart attack the first time she did it, too. Just climbed up a tree and leapt, like some sort of crazy cat, to the low shingled roof and then tapped on the glass, fast and irritating.

“ _What,_ asshole, it’s like three-thirty, I was sleeping, what’s wrong?” Steve had said, and then kept going, because why say two words when twenty will do? “Is it the kids? Did those shitheads finally crack and drive themselves to Chicago to see Will? I’ll kill them myself, God, give me two minutes and I’ll be right down—”

“Steve,” Robin had interrupted. “Shut the fuck up. Nothing’s wrong, I just couldn’t sleep, so I’m sleeping here tonight.” And then she pushed past him and into his room. She kicked off her shoes, and Steve, in the dim light of the moon, realized she was wearing all black: not quite goth, but close, tough and cool-looking and not band geeky at all, all of the soft nerdery gone along with the stupid fucking Scoops uniform.

“Fuck off,” Steve had told her, tripping over her boots. “Asshole.”

“Dingus,” she said, and then started snoring. 

They happen more nights than not, now, the sleepovers, and Steve looks forward to them every day. There’s a comfort to being with Robin, to being around someone his own age that he doesn’t have all sorts of stupid history with. To being around someone his own age and not feeling like his heart is breaking. It’s good. It’s really, really good.

Right now, Robin’s got her socked feet up against his desk, and she’s laying flat on the floor, her hair spread around her like a halo. They’re both a little high, because Robin knows some guy two towns over who has some brother who’s a dealer. 

They’ve got a tape playing, loud as they can make it go, and Freddie Mercury and a ton of back-up singers sing _I’ve just gotta get out of this prison cell, someday I’m gonna be free, Lord_ — and the music fades, and Robin looks so sad, like her heart is aching. Like she’s yearning for something. Steve looks at her and aches, too, but the ache is different from the one that comes when he looks at Nancy. He looked at Nancy and wanted to give her the world, wanted to give her everything, but he couldn’t do that so he gave her himself, which wasn’t enough. He doesn’t blame her for it. 

He looks at Robin, now, flat on his floor and looking lost and sad, and Steve wants to give her the whole world, too, but in a different way. He doesn’t know how to describe it. It’s a little like how he feels around Dustin and Max and Lucas but it’s different because she’s as old as he is. He lays down beside her and reaches out for her hand. She lets him hold it. She’s got black nailpolish on but it’s chipping off. He thinks maybe he’ll re-do it for her tonight, when they watch Ghostbusters for the ninth time. 

“You’re my best friend,” he tells her.

She turns her head to look at him, her blue eyes fierce, and certain, and laughing just a little. Part of Steve thinks, _finally,_ but he can’t really explain why he thinks that. Or maybe he can. It’s just that, his whole life he’s been looking for someone to love him as much as he loves them. His parents, Nancy, even fucking Tommy H and Carol. He looks at Robin and he knows, he _knows,_ that they’ll be ninety years old and in rocking chairs arguing back and forth, making fun of each other for breaking hips and having dentures and not knowing how to work their new TVs. 

“You’re my best friend, too,” she says, and then rolls her eyes. 

In the background, the music builds, the drums coming back in from where they had faded out, one voice piling on top of another, building and building, a dozen people singing _find me somebody to love, find me somebody to love, find me somebody to love._

“Somebody,” Robin sings, lips twitching.

“Somebody,” Steve echoes, with the music.

“Somebody,” Robin says, sitting up, raising her eyebrows. A dare.

“Somebody!” Steve answers, getting up on his knees and tossing his head. 

“Somebody find me somebody to love!” They chorus, leaping to their feet, and then it’s a free for all, both of them dancing around each other, twirling in each others’ arms, screaming at the top of their lungs, just singing and singing as loud as they can, stupid as anything. Looking dumb as fuck. Shrieking and laughing and skinning up their knees when they trip over Steve’s old sports gear. Anybody could look in the window and declare them insane, call the police on them. Steve doesn’t care. Robin doesn’t either. 

It’s fun. 

Robin sleeps over, again, and the house doesn’t feel as big or lonely. 

The months pass and suddenly it’s Christmas again, and Hopper is back somehow, and so is El and Will and Miss Byers and Jonathan. They’re all chasing each other around: nobody has all the facts, not even Steve, who’s been stuck to these kids like glue or a bad fungus for the past four months. They end up at the Byers house, everyone tearing open the walls to do something with the wires, something with the electricity, and all Steve can do is sigh, and shrug, and try to help as best he can. It goes dark and suddenly Ms. Byers and Hopper are shouting and he’s standing in front of Nancy and Jonathan with his bat in his hand while the adults put the kids behind them. It’s familiar, and heartbreaking, and something in Steve’s chest turns over on itself until all he can think is _God, I wish Robin were here._ And then there’s nothing for it but to start swinging, nothing to do except try and keep Jonathan and Nancy behind him and trust Joyce Byers and fucking Hopper to keep the kids safe.

It’s chaos, and horrible, until it isn’t anymore, until everyone’s gone their separate ways and it’s just Steve again, just Steve in his car after dropping Lucas, Max, and Dustin off, and then it’s just Steve in his fucking empty house.

He’s standing, bloody and dirty, bat still in hand, in his own foyer. The floors are pristine. There’s nothing on the walls, nothing torn open and sparking like at the old Byers place.

“This is bullshit,” he says, and then goes to Robin’s.

“Steve?” Robin says, eyes going bigger than dinner plates when he shoves his bat through her open window and then follows right after it.

“Hey, Robs,” Steve says, flat on his back. He thinks his nose is bleeding. 

“Oh my God,” Robin says, and then walks out of the room. She comes back with a fully-loaded first aid kit, hauls him up on his feet, pushes him into her desk chair, and then fixes up his face, cussing him out the whole time. “What happened?”

So Steve tells her, the whole thing coming out of his mouth like vomit because it hurts to talk about Jonathan Byers, more than he thought it would, more than it hurts to talk about Nancy, because he and Nancy are friends now, kind of. Sometimes. What hurts the fucking most is the fact that his shithead kids left him out of the loop for so long, that everyone grouped up and then left him alone, cheerfully adrenaline-high and happy to see each other again. 

“—and I missed you so bad during that whole thing, Robs, holy shit.”

Robin blows her hair out of her face, her eyes flashing. “They all just let you fucking go off on your own?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, I got saddled with the kids, and everyone else had their own kids, too, and Nancy and Jonathan had, like, _just_ reunited, or whatever, it was super Romeo and Juliet, and I didn’t want to get between Joyce and Hopper, so—” 

“So you just left,” Robin finishes.

Steve raises his hands like _what can you do_ and then winces. He must’ve fucked up his shoulder, somewhere, somehow. 

“You’re staying here tonight,” Robin tells him.

Relief floods through him, because God, Robin knows him so well. Sometimes he thinks they can read each others’ minds, thinks something in that crazy fucking Russian drug made them just a little telepathic. He strips off his jacket, and then steps out of his boots, and then takes a whiff of his shirt and decides he should probably take that off, too, it smells so rank. Robin strips off her black sweatshirt to pull on a large t-shirt before crawling into bed. She stares at him when he hesitates and then pats the spot next to her, so Steve squeezes in and tucks himself around her. 

“Well, my day wasn’t half as exciting as yours, thanks a fucking lot, Harrington, but I did see Kerri Anderson hiding under the bleachers with Blake Jimens.”

“Really?” Steve asks, already drowsy. “Her and Tom Marks must be off again, then.”

Robin turns in his arms, staring at him like he’s said something crazy, like he’s said something genius. Like he’s discovered a new planet, or bought her an entire fucking birthday cake.

“What?” He says, fighting for coherency.

“Nothing,” she grins, smiling so wide and mischievous Steve gets a little nervous. “Go to sleep. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

In the morning, it takes a minute for Steve to remember where he is, and then a further thirty seconds for him to wake up enough to be worried. He stomps down the stairs, still shirtless, making as much noise as he can because he wants to annoy Robin and he knows her parents are never home, anyway. 

It’s another thing they have in common.

“Alright, shithead, it’s morning, tell me what that demonic look was for last night,” Steve says, banging into the kitchen. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Robin says. She’s got four Eggo waffles in front of her and she looks like she’s going to eat them all. Her hair is everywhere, and she’s still in that too-big shirt, that spiky black cuff that she never takes off still on her wrist. She looks so different than she used to, back at Scoops. 

“When’s our next shift at the video store?” Steve says, suddenly.

“Steve what the _fuck,_ ” Robin hisses. 

“Right,” Steve says. “Not the point. What was last night about, then?”

He collapses beside Robin, one foot up on her chair, the other spread out below the table. The hard wood of the kitchen chairs digs into his back but he doesn’t care. He reaches out, swipes a waffle off her plate, and starts eating it like a sandwich. Syrup drips down his fingers but he just licks it off. Robin stares at him, disgusted, and then looks down at her plate. Shrugs. Picks up her third waffle and starts eating it his way.

“So, you’re gonna think this is nuts, but I think it’s super great, so hear me out, right?” She tells him.

Steve rolls his free hand at her like a projector: _go on._

“I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says.

“What?”

“Not all the time!” She adds, quickly. “Just when it’s convenient. We can say we’re on-off, you know? And that way I wouldn’t be so worried all the time, and you could hang out with Nancy and Jonathan without being awkward.”

He doesn’t ask her what she’s worried about. He knows. He knows almost everything about her: the fact that she loves almonds and hates peanuts, the fact that she has an older sister who got the hell out of dodge almost ten years ago, the fact that she shook two years ago when Billy Hargroves took one look at her and called her a _fucking classic band dyke._ There’s no reason to bring it up. No reason to pull it all out and make her talk about it, to hurt her all over again. She loves him for it, he knows. 

He wants to do it, for her. He knows he’s going to say yes, knew it the second he finished processing her question. This is going to make Robin safer, make her feel more comfortable walking around town, help her deflect questions. It’s not even a question, not for him. He’d give her the whole world. He can give her this, easily.

“Of course I’ll do it, Robs. You don’t even have to ask.” And then he registers the second part of her statement. “How the hell would this help with Nancy and Jonathan?”

He doesn’t bother to ask her how she knows he wants to hang out with them, now that they’re all back in the same place and his broken heart has fixed itself up as good as it’s going to get. Of course she knows. She knows everything about him.

“Well, it’s, like, a little pathetic for you to tag along with them while you’re single, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“This way, if you’ve got a ‘girlfriend,’ it doesn’t look like you’re just there because you don’t have any other friends, or because you’re still in love with Nancy. It can be, you know. Casual.”

“Casual,” Steve hums. He shoves the last bite of waffle in his mouth and then licks his fingers clean. “Alright, Robs. I’m in.”

“Bitchin’.” Robin says, and then licks her fingers, too.

When Dustin shows up at Steve’s door two days later, scowling and with Max and Lucas in tow, Steve thinks about Robin, still sleeping up in his room, and then thinks _showtime_.

But first he gets yelled at.

“Where have you _been_ everyone has been so worried because none of us have seen you and you _know_ everyone is on winter break and so there’s no reason to not have seen us and we just fought _another_ monster and you’ve been _gone_ like an _asshole—”_

“Aw, kid,” Steve says, and then pulls Dustin in for a tight hug. “I’m fine, man. I’ve just been resting.”

“You’re coming to breakfast with us,” Dustin says, his voice muffled. Behind him, Steve can see Max and Lucas frowning, too, trying to look tough but mostly looking young and fragile. Steve lifts an arm and they both join the hug, holding him tight, tight, tight. 

God, but he loves these kids. 

They stand there, everybody clinging, until Robin comes up behind them and scares the shit out of the little shitheads.

“What’s all this?” She asks, knuckling her eyes and shivering at the open door. Her big sleep shirt goes down to her knees, and she’s got a pair of Steve’s sweatpants on and, _huh_. Maybe this’ll be easier than he thought.

“Robin?” Dustin exclaims, his eyes bugging, when he fights his way out from under Steve’s arm.

“Hey, doofus,” she says. “Why the long faces?”

“Robin?” Max and Lucas chorus, also pulling away. 

“That’s my name,” she says.

“Did you _sleep_ at—” Dustin starts, but Max and Lucas cut him off, both whacking him on the shoulder. 

Robin’s eyes light up, all mischief and pride, because her plan is going to work, and it’s going to be _easy._ Both of them had been a little worried about convincing people, worried about acting too much like best friends, worried about making people think they were attracted to each other. 

Fuck, why the hell had they worried about that? It’s going to be cake. It’s going to be so, so easy. Steve grins at her and she grins back, wide, and Dustin makes a choking sound and Max half-squeals and then clears her throat. Lucas hits him three times, very excitedly, on the arm.

Oh, yeah. They have this in the bag.

“Is it cool if Robin comes to breakfast?” Steve asks.

“ _Yes,_ ” Dustin says, nearly bouncing in place. 

“We going soon?” Steve asks.

“Right now! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s _go,_ ” Max says. “I haven’t seen El in forever, and you idiots are holding me back!”

Steve laughs. “Let me and Robin get dressed,” he says. “We’ll be down as fast as we can.”

The kids let them go, Max calling after them, “and you’d better be quick! Because I’ll come up there if I have to and I don’t wanna be, like, scarred!”

As soon as they get to his room, Robin starts giggling, and then Steve can’t help but laugh, too, and soon they’re both flat on the floor. 

“What the fuck were we worried about?” Robin says.

“I don’t know, oh my God, shit, did you see their faces?” Steve wheezes.

 _“Yes,”_ Robin says, almost a shriek, and then stuffs her fist in her mouth. “Shit, okay, be cool, Harrington. Where’s my clothes?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Steve asks, but gets up to help her look anyway. 

The ride to breakfast is quiet, because Max and Lucas have shoved Dustin between them in the back seat and every time Dustin opens his mouth they hit him hard on his shoulder. Steve would start up a conversation, but every time he looks over at them he feels like he’s going to start giggling again, and he sure as shit can’t talk to Robin, because as soon as she opens her mouth he’s going to lose it, and the kids are so damn curious they’d never let it go until they found out what they were laughing about, and that’d be the game played, everything over not even an hour after they started.

Steve takes a deep breath and firmly tells himself he’s an adult, and he can keep it together. He clears his throat and sees Robin look out the window, her face working like she’s swallowing a smile. “So,” he says, “who’s gonna be at this shindig?”

“Well, all of us, plus El, Will, Mike, Ms. Byers, Chief Hopper,” Dustin lists off, before hesitating, glancing between Steve and Robin and then continuing, “and Jonathan and Nancy.”

Steve feels his breath catch in his chest, something deep and soft and yearning clawing up and blocking any words that might come out. _Jonathan’s back,_ a small and quiet thing inside him whispers, _Jonathan’s back, Jonathan’s back, Jonathan’s back. He’s back and Nancy’s with him, and you should be with them, you should be there._ The thought feels dangerous, feels like standing in front of them swinging a bat and thinking _just try and get through me, motherfucker._

“Oh, great!” Robin says, nodding and smiling, saving Steve’s ass like she does all the time. “Yeah, I haven’t talked to them yet, not really. It’ll be cool to meet them for real.”

Dustin smiles so big Steve can see his molars and he gives Robin a grateful look because she’s said exactly the right thing. She winks at him and he winks back. 

Max reaches around Dustin to slap Lucas on the arm, raising her eyebrows and looking between Steve and Robin like she’s trying to communicate something to the other boys in the car. Steve bites his tongue so he won’t start laughing and Robin stuffs a knuckle in her mouth. 

Max starts up a conversation then, loudly talking about a new edition of a Wonder Woman comic that came out which Steve knows nothing about, but he knows Robin reads them, and Max needs more female influences in her life, and Robin can be so shy sometimes, so he says, “you know, Max, Robin is, like, just as big a dork as you, and she’s got almost every single edition of those comics.”

Max’s eyes go big and starry and she breathes, “ _wow._ What did you think about—” and then they’re off, talking faster than Steve would’ve thought possible with the boys interjecting every now and again. 

Steve grins and flicks on the radio. Suddenly, the car is filled with guitars, smooth and blue-rock loud, and Steve mouths the lyrics as they vibrate through the air. _I broke a thousand hearts, before I met yo-ou. I'll break a thousand more ba-by, before I am through._ He turns the knob all the way up and all conversation stops, three little pairs of eyes lighting up at the noise.

“I wanna be yours, pretty baby,” Dustin screams, along with the guitar. 

“Yours and— ” Lucas caterwauls, then points at Max to finish the line.

“Yours alone!” Max shrieks, then points at Robin.

“I’m here to tell ya honey,” Robin says and points at Steve.

He flicks his sunglasses down off his head and over his eyes then croons, “that I’m bad to the bone!” 

The kids scream like he’s done the coolest thing in the fucking world, absolute ear-piercing squeals, and Steve throws his head back and laughs. 

It’s warm in the car, warmer than the winter outside, and so loud Steve thinks his eardrums are about to pop, but it feels comfortable. The familiar town around him whizzes by, and for once, it feels like home, and the kids in the back feel like family, and Robin feels like someone he’ll love for the rest of his life. He feels sure, steady and confident in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, hasn’t felt since before he and Nancy broke up. Maybe he’s never felt like this. 

He thinks he likes it.

The first thing Joyce hears is the noise.

They’re all loitering outside the diner, her boys and Hopper, and Nancy, Mike and El, waiting for the rest of the kids to come back with Steve. He’d slipped away from them the other night, Steve did: she’d sent him to bring home the kids under the impression that he’d _come back_ right after and let her and Hop patch him up, but he’d done no such thing. He’d just gone off, probably back to his house, Nancy reassured her, but she hated to think of him by himself in that big old place. 

When she had asked, Dustin had leapt at the chance to go and drag Steve to the diner for breakfast. Jonathan didn’t even groan about it, like she thought he might. It makes her proud, that her son is turning into such an understanding man. She knows he doesn’t like to think of Steve alone in his house, either.

So they’re all waiting, stomachs growling, nobody speaking, when the dull roar of an engine comes up the empty road, followed by music blaring. It’s all guitar and blues, with the yelling of three extremely excited kids overlayed, all of them shrieking.

“What the fuck?” Jonathan asks, startled, and Joyce can’t even tell him to watch his language because she’d been a second from asking the same thing.

Nancy snorts, and they both turn to look at her. She’s got a tiny smile on her face, which is good, because Joyce keeps finding herself thinking that the poor girl is too serious for her age.

“Steve,” Nancy sighs, almost fond. 

Sure enough, Steve Harrington’s car peels into the parking lot, the music still going loud and strong. El is tucked up by Hopper, but Joyce can see the way her eyes light up at the heavy rock guitars. Beside her, Will and Mike bop their heads to the music and Joyce finds herself smiling.

When the kids tumble out of the car, the music is still going and they’re screaming along, acting their age for once, dancing like idiots and twirling each other around. 

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh-ba-ad,” they’re all shouting, Max shaking her head like she’s at a rock concert, her red curls flying. None of them have noticed her or Hopper, or Jonathan and Nancy, because they would’ve stopped. The kids don’t like to act silly around them, want them all to see them as mature and grown-up, but Joyce feels tears springing up in her eyes because God, she wishes they acted like this all the time. She wishes she saw them like this more often. 

“When I walk the streets!” Steve Harrington hollers, slamming out of his car with sunglasses over his eyes and a bomber jacket on. “Kings and queens step aside!” 

He looks steady, bruises on his face fading, a cigarette hanging from his lips and crazy smile on his face. He’s dancing a little and he looks more like the Steve Harrington that Joyce saw around town before all this Upside Down shit started happening, back before El and Will, back when he was all cool confidence. He’s grinning like everything is funny, just like he used to. God, but they’re all still just kids: it’s so good to see them all acting like this. What she wouldn’t _give_ to see Jonathan acting like this.

And then the passenger door opens.

“Every woman I meet,” a girl croons with the music, pointing at Steve. “They all leave satisfied.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs. Beside her, Jonathan stiffens and Nancy breathes out hard through her nose and Joyce thinks, _shit._ Steve and Nancy used to date, she remembers, and doesn't know how she forgot. Jonathan spent a whole year sulking about it. 

The girl dances around the car and it looks like she’s going to go to Steve, and let him dance her around, but then she glances over and spots Joyce and everyone and gives a little wave. She ducks into the drivers’ side while Steve watches the kids dance and scream, then shuts off the car. The kids don’t even notice the music turns off, they’re yelling so loud. Max and Lucas keep tossing their heads around and bumping into each other while Dustin yells the guitar solo over and over. 

“Hey, idiots,” Steve says. “Pull it together. They’re waiting for us.” He nods over at her and Joyce gives him a smile that feels only a little stranded. 

Immediately, the kids stop dancing and yelling. Max glances over at the group and turns bright red while Lucas straightens up and Dustin sticks his hands in his pockets. Steve Harrington throws his head back and laughs at them, then gives Dustin a little push forward and all the kids come running. Max goes up to El and the both of them start talking over each other, voices going so high Joyce can’t understand what they’re saying, while Dustin and Lucas hurry over to Will.

Steve Harrington saunters over, throwing an arm around the girl’s shoulders and kissing her forehead. She slides her arm around his waist and tucks her hand into his coat pocket. Joyce feels herself grin, bigger this time, more genuine. They look sweet. 

She tells Jonathan this. “Who’s Steve’s new girlfriend? They look sweet.”

Jonathan’s teeth grind together so hard Joyce can hear them. “I don’t know. I think I recognize her but I don’t—” 

“She was at the mall,” Nancy says, her eyes narrow. “I don’t think we talked to her but it was all such a blur that I don’t quite remember.”

Joyce shrugs. “Well, the more the merrier. Come on, everyone, inside.” She directs the last part to the kids, who hustle inside out of the cold as soon as she says it’s alright. Hop grins at her and holds the door open when she follows them. God, but it’s good to have him back.

They take three different tables, her and Hop, the teenagers at another, and the kids at the third. Well, it’s more like five tables: the kids have to push three together in order to make room for everyone. Steve goes to sit next to Dustin but his girlfriend rolls her eyes, says, “Steve, I love you, but I am not sitting at that loud-ass table full of kids this early in the morning,” and drags him over to Jonathan and Nancy and pushes him down into a chair.

Across from her, Hopper grins and stares at all the kids. “It’s good to have everyone together again. It’s good to be back.” He says. He puts his hand on hers.

“It’s good to be back,” Joyce agrees. She turns her hand over and laces their fingers together. “It’s good to have you back, Hop.”

“Mom, can we get milkshakes?” Will hollers from across the room. 

Hopper gives a sarcastic little huff and rolls his eyes, his mustache twitching. “I take it back,” he tells her, and she can’t help but laugh.

Robin forces him into a chair across from Nancy and then sits beside him, across from Jonathan.

“Hi,” she says, white teeth gleaming, eyes twinkling behind her dark eyeliner. “I’m Robin, we've met before but, like, only once, and it was a little chaotic, so. Hi.” She smiles wider.

Steve is going to kill her. He should’ve sat by fucking Dustin, which he tried to do, except Robin wouldn’t fucking let him. He glares at her, tries to tell her with his eyes that he’s never painting her nails for her again. She just rolls her eyes so he takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he’s a fucking adult, and he’s taken on monsters for Jonathan and Nancy, so he sure as fuck can tolerate a brunch with them, even if his heart is turning over in his chest and he feels stupider than he’s ever felt, even counting eleventh grade chemistry.

He just doesn’t know what to _say._

Nancy snaps her fingers. “Yes!” She exclaims. “Mike’s talked about you a few times? And Dustin, too. You’re friends with Steve, right?”

Robin nods. “Yeah, we worked at Scoops together, and now we’re over at the video store.”

“We’re best fucking friends, Robin, God, way to make me sound like your freak co-worker. We got kidnapped by the Russian government,” Steve tells Nancy and Jonathan, who blink at him, confused and a little dazed, like the joke went right over their heads. “Friends who do experimental drugs together stay together!” He finishes, and Robin smacks his hand when he holds it up for a high-five. 

But Dustin heard Nancy say his name and is staring at them, along with the other kids, who all have shit-eating grins on their faces. “But they’re not _just_ friends,” Dustin says, sing-song. 

Steve opens his mouth to tell Dustin that, for the nine _thousandth_ time, him and Robin aren’t fucking like that, except then he remembers. His teeth click shut. 

“Oh?” Jonathan says, like an asshole, and Steve’s remembering why he used to make fun of the guy. The little flare of anger tucks itself up against his already pounding heart, and God, why is he so nervous? Why can’t he think?

He doesn’t have any control over his mouth, is too busy staring between Jonathan and Nancy to plan out anything, so he doesn’t know why he says, “well, yeah. We’re dating.” And then he waits for Robin to hit him.

But Robin smiles, super big, like this is going just fuckin’ perfect, and isn’t horrible and awkward, and God, it’s so fucking hot in this diner, isn’t it hot in this diner? 

“Well, how could I resist?” Robin says, theatrical, and Steve doesn’t know where the fuck she’s going with this. “He just was so sexy in that scoops uniform.” 

It’s so ridiculous he starts laughing, just bends right over the table and laughs so hard he almost knocks over his glass of water. Robin starts laughing right after, until they’re both bent over with it and Jonathan and Nancy are staring at them like they’ve both lost their marbles. The kids turn back around, because apparently it’s boring to watch Steve have a breakdown, but once Steve gets ahold of himself he feels better. Lighter. Robin winks at him and Steve feels his heart swell up in his chest because she did that on purpose, made him laugh so he’d feel better. 

Steve tosses his arm around her chair and she leans in automatically to accept the kiss on her forehead. 

Nancy’s smile goes a little fixed. Steve knows that look, recognizes it from all the nights he used to spend helping her study. It’s Nancy finding something she doesn’t understand, some problem that’s tripping her up, and deciding that she’s going to work through it, no matter how long it takes and how many times Steve tells her that it’s Friday night, Nancy, come on, you have the whole weekend for this and it’s not due until Wednesday anyway. 

His heart skips in his chest. God, but sometimes he misses her so much he can’t breathe. They’re not even friends anymore, not really.

He wants to be her friend. 

“How about you guys, though? How have you been?” He asks, and his voice comes out so gentle and tender he almost winces, but he chokes it back. Robin glances at him out of the corner of her eye but doesn’t say anything, which he’s grateful for. “Jonathan,” he says, and it feels so good to say his name that all he wants to do is say it again. “Jonathan, man, I haven’t seen you in ages! How was Chicago? How’s school?”

Jonathan stares at him for a second, lips parted, and God, Steve needs… he needs Jonathan to stop looking like this, all soft and doe-eyed. It’s why he picked at him, back when they were different people, forever and three years ago. Part of Steve wants to dig his nails into Jonathan and pull, just to see him react, just to see his soft eyes get big and shiny. Steve shakes his head like a dog climbing out of a lake the same second Nancy reaches over and elbows Jonathan.

“Good!” Jonathan sputters. “Yeah, good. I mean, it wasn’t Hawkins, but I guess that’s why we left.”

Steve doesn’t know what the fuck to say to that. “Did you like it over there?”

Jonathan frowns, thoughtful, and suddenly Steve is imagining him under red lights, Nancy staring at him like she’s doing right now, the both of them intent and quiet and purposeful. “All I’ve wanted to do, my whole life, is get out of Hawkins, and as soon as it happened I couldn’t wait to come back. I don’t know. I didn’t _dislike_ it, but I just… well, it was hard being away from… from everyone.”

Steve hears him bite back the words _away from Nancy_ and doesn’t know whether he appreciates it or not.

Nancy and Jonathan gaze at each other, loving and soft, Jonathan’s hand all twisted up between Nancy’s on the diner table. Nancy looks… adoring is the only word for it. A jealous, twisted-up part of Steve hates it, but the bigger, newer part of him is just… well, he’s still sad. But he’s happy for them, too. They deserve it. They deserve so much, Steve would give them so much, if they asked. All they’d have to do is ask. 

But they don’t and so he sits there at the fucking diner table and flounders, trying to think up something, anything to talk about, and Jonathan and Nancy don’t even notice, too caught up in each other. 

Robin gives him a nudge and Steve pulls himself together. “Well, it’s good to have you back, man. We missed you,” he tells Jonathan, because it’s true, and it’s also the only thing he can think to say. 

Nancy pulls herself away from Jonathan then turns back to look at Robin and Steve. And she’s definitely looking at Robin _and_ Steve, her eyes pinging back and forth between them, like she’s trying to figure out how they work, how they act together as a couple. _This is it,_ Steve thinks, because Steve was in love with Nancy, is maybe still in love with Nancy, and Nancy knows how he acts when he’s in love. Nancy’s the most observant person he knows. Fuck, if they can fool Nancy, they’ll never have to worry about anything again. 

“Ouch, shit,” Robin says, and Steve swings his head over to her so fast he gets whiplash. 

“Robs, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks, the words coming out of his mouth so fast his tongue almost gets tangled. “Let me see, what’d you do?”

Robin rolls her eyes at him but lets him pull her hand up onto the table, lets him cradle her hand between both of his. “I’m fine, dingus, I just cut it.”

“Here?” Steve says, shrill. “On _what?_ ”

“No, not here, stupid, last night on your stupid fucking death-trap of a roof.”

“Where was I for this?” Steve asks.

“I think you were making dinner,” she responds, letting him twist her hand around between his. There’s a long, thin cut across her palm, deep but not so deep he needs to be worried about it. “We left those stupid beer bottles up there, from last week, remember? I broke one and cut my hand on it trying to climb through your window.”

“I keep _telling_ you to just come through the fuckin’ door, you know nobody’s ever home!” Steve says, scowling and bringing her palm up to his mouth to kiss better automatically. He’d done the same for Erica two days ago when she’d stormed up to his door, bleeding at the knees and trying not to cry, tugging her bike along behind her. She’s a tough kid, but she’s only ten, and sometimes ten year olds still need to be coddled a little. Fuck, Steve can’t even count how many times he wished his mom would be there to kiss him better after he scraped himself up, back when he was a kid. He can’t let any of the kids feel that way.

Robin’s giving him a soft look, like she knows he’s thinking about his mom, and she scrubs her hand through his hair affectionately before scooting her chair closer to his and leaning into his side.

“Oh,” Nancy says, her voice tiny. When Steve looks at her, her eyes are big and dark, and she’s looking at him like… like she hasn’t in a long time. Steve doesn’t know how to describe it. It makes him want to wrap her up in his arms, tuck his face down in her hair and hold her until that look is gone. Something about that look makes him think that she’d let him do it. 

He tears his eyes away from her to look at Jonathan, reminding himself of all the reasons he very much _cannot_ do that, except Jonathan’s looking hurt and fragile, too, and all of this is too fucking much, Steve can’t understand it. It feels like he’s back in stats class, staring at a problem, trying to solve for X and not knowing where to start, not knowing what the equation is even supposed to _look_ like. 

Robin stares out at the two of them, and then looks at Steve, and Steve begs her with his eyes to please, please, _please_ do something to save him.

“Look at us, I’m so sorry, we’re being assholes,” Robin says, her voice casual and warm and funny. Steve feels himself relax, lets himself slump further against her and reach for his coffee. “We’re not making any sense. So, I went over to Steve’s last night, right? Because he said he wanted to cook, and hates cooking for just himself, and how could I pass up a—”

“You cook?” Jonathan interrupts. Steve frowns at him, because, like, that was rude, and Robin was talking, but Robin’s looking between him and Steve with her eyebrows up on her forehead. She looks like she did when she was translating Russian, intently curious. 

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says.

“Steve makes _great_ lasagna,” Robin grins.

“I’ve had it.” Nancy says, her voice strange.

There’s a pause. “Alright,” Robin says, a little baffled. 

Nancy puts her head in her hands and takes a deep breath. Steve watches her do it, and he watches Jonathan watch her, too. “God, I’m sorry,” Nancy says. “I didn’t sleep well last night. What were you saying, Robin?” 

Robin, God bless her, God, Steve is going to make her waffles every morning for the rest of their _lives,_ picks up the story where she left it, and keeps talking all through breakfast. Steve relaxes after a few minutes, interjecting every few seconds when Robin gets something wrong, and feeling his chest warm with how many sentences Robin starts with _Steve and I, Steve said, I told Steve…_

She’s his best friend, the best friend he’s ever had. Steve beams at her like an idiot and tries to keep from looking at Jonathan and Nancy, because he’s finally got his head screwed on straight and he refuses to lose it again. 

All in all, it’s a pretty good breakfast. 

Toward the end, the kids start flicking food at him and Robin, and him and Robin start flicking food back, as subtle as they can, and Jonathan and Nancy watch them do it, forced smiles on their faces. The one time Mike tries to rope Jonathan and Nancy into the game, Nancy turns around and says, as sweet and as fierce as Steve has ever seen her, “Michael, if you get syrup in my hair _one_ more time I’ll tell mom you threw up at breakfast and will make _sure_ she checks on you _every other hour_ tonight.” 

Mike scowls at her and spins around. El feeds him a piece of waffle off her fork, and Steve stares at them and thinks, _young love_ and finds that the thought isn’t bitter.

The meal wraps up and Steve pays for Robin, and Dustin, Max, and Lucas, then shepherds them all to the door. 

“This was fun,” he tells Jonathan and Nancy. He isn’t lying: it was fun. It was good to see them. “We should make this a thing.”

“Yeah?” Nancy says, eager.

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting himself smile at her. His hand twitches, because he wants to tuck her hair behind her ear, but he holds himself back. 

“You should come to my house today,” Jonathan blurts.

“What?” Steve asks. “Dude, no offense, but I thought you didn’t, like, have a house here anymore.”

Jonathan blushes, red and hot, and Steve’s mouth feels dry and his stomach feels warm but he focuses on Jonathan’s next sentence anyway. 

“I don’t,” Jonathan says, scrubbing his hands over his face once. “But nobody bought it or anything after we moved out and me and Nancy are going over there to try and, you know, fix it up a little.”

Steve remembers standing in that house, Christmas lights flashing, he remembers standing there with Dustin and the kids, he remembers the way Jonathan looked so small and cold this most recent time he was back, when wires were sparking and Hopper had come back from the dead. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I’ll swing by. What time?” 

“Around two,” Nancy says, with the prettiest smile Steve's ever seen. 

“Cool,” Steve says. “Robs, does two work for you?” 

Nancy's smile disappears like smoke in the wind. Steve can't figure out what that look on her face is: it's not angry, exactly, and it's not quite sad either, but a mix of the two with some third emotion mixed in that Steve can't decipher.

“Robin can’t come,” Jonathan says. 

“What?” Steve says, baffled.

“Jonathan,” Nancy scolds. 

“I just mean that it’s going to be, like, cold, and there are… you know… things, still around, _things_ that she can’t… see.” Jonathan says, losing steam as he goes.

“Oh.” Steve stares at him all confused because, like, Robin had _introduced herself_ to them, in the mall all those months ago. “No, man, it’s totally cool, Robin knows about the Upside Down. I thought you knew this? She was there that night with the Mind-Flayer when we thought Hopper died, you remember? I think this is, like, the third time we've told you? Like, the third time today." Jonathan's got his head in his hands, now, but Steve can't stop talking, his mouth running away without him like it always does. "We got kidnapped by Russians together.”

“And tortured and drugged,” Robin adds.  
  
“Fuck off, you didn’t get tortured at all,” Steve scowls. Nancy gasps, her pale cheeks going paler, and Steve adds, hastily, “not that I got tortured! Nobody was tortured! Just, like, hit a few times.”

“And drugged,” Robin repeats, grinning like an asshole. 

“And drugged,” Steve sighs. He smiles back at her, because he can’t fuckin’ help it, and shrugs at Jonathan and Nancy. “Shared trauma, you know. We bonded.” 

Fuck knows why, but their faces fall at the words, like he’s pulled a rug out from under them. 

“Oh, well, if Robin wants to come—” Nancy starts, but Robin interrupts, still grinning.

“Thanks, but I can’t, I’ve got to meet up with some girls from band. We’ve got a new piece to practice.” Robin’s eyes are twinkling and she’s swinging Steve’s hand back and forth like a kid, and Steve needs to grill her about these girls she’s meeting _right fucking now_ , why the fuck didn’t he know about this before?

“Anyway, Nance, we’ve gotta go, I’ll see you at two, I’ll bring beers, drive safe,” he tosses over his shoulder, pulling Robin along as she dissolves into full-on belly laughs, like she knows she’s getting interrogated as soon as they’re alone. “Hey, shitheads, who am I driving home?” He hollers, and suddenly they’re surrounded by shouting kids, everything chaotic and loud, just the way he likes it.

He still glances back at Jonathan and Nancy, though. Just the once. They’re watching him leave, and when they see him looking, they raise their hands in unison to wave him off. 

Steve hesitates, just for a second, and then he waves back. 

They drop Max off first, then Lucas, then Dustin. The second Dustin’s front door slams shut, the kid safely inside, Robin turns to Steve and smacks his arm.

“You didn’t tell me it was like _that,_ ” She exclaims, her voice high and excited.

“Like what?” Steve asks, baffled.

“Like _that,_ ” Robin hollers, then hits his arm again. She’s giddy, grinning so bright it’s like the sun. “Oh my God, Harrington, dating me is the best thing that has ever happened to you.” 

“What?” Steve asks, again. 

“Nancy _and Jonathan,_ ” Robin says. She puts a weird emphasis on the ‘and Jonathan.’ Steve doesn’t know what to make of it. He just stares at her until he remembers, wait, he has something to interrogate her about, too.

“Hold on, don’t reflect,” Steve says.

“It’s _de-_ flect, dumbass,” Robin says.

“No, you won’t distract me,” Steve tells her, nose in the air. He reaches over and punches her gently on the arm and she punches him back, way harder. “Who are these fuckin’ girls you’re hanging out with today?”

“Just… okay, you have to be cool, alright?”

Steve stares at her, indignant. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

Robin huffs out something that’s close to a laugh. “Of course, sorry, King Steve. Okay, fine. Fine, I’m going to Monica Horowitz’s house.”

Steve waits and when Robin just looks at him, gnawing on her lip nervously, he bursts out, “to do _what?_ Homework? Watch movies? Fuck? Come on, Robs, I’m dying over here.”

“Jesus, Steve!” Robin sputters. “I don’t know! We’re in band together and we got a new piece and it’s _not_ a big deal—”

“Except it _is_ because you haven’t _told me about it until now,_ and also you _lied_ earlier and said you were gonna be with _multiple_ girls, not just one, which _means_ you like her! Like-like her!”

“Could you _be_ any more juvenile,” Robin hisses.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve answers, raising his eyebrows.

Robin glares at him for a second and then relents. “Fine, yeah. Fine. I think it might be… something. It’s not a _date,_ but…”

“But it’s something,” Steve finishes, and feels love and pride and excitement and a horrible, overwhelming kind of _fear_ swallow him up. Pride and love for Robin, because fuck yes she deserves this, but fear because… he wants her safe. He wants her to be safe. He’d kill and die for Robin. He would, he would, because he loves her more than he’s loved anyone, or at least loves her differently than he’s loved anyone. Immediately, Steve decides that he’ll beard for her however long she wants. The rest of his _life,_ if that’s what it takes. He can imagine marrying Robin, years down the road, and living with her and her partner, covering for them until the sun explodes in the sky. 

Robin looks at him, stares at his face for a long time, and then pitches forward into his chest. She holds him tight, fingers clutching, and sniffles a little. 

“Fuck, Robs, are you crying?” Steve asks, a little frantic.

“I love you, you know that?” She says, her voice thick. “Like, I never thought… God, Steve. You’re my best friend.” 

They’ve said it to each other before but it’s always good to hear her say it again. _You’re my best friend,_ she says, and Steve tucks the words away in his chest, because they’re better than anything he’s ever heard before. Steve feels his eyes welling up with sympathy tears and he presses his face into her soft, shaggy hair, feeling awed, feeling blessed. He presses kisses to her hair, one after another. They stay like that until a loud _bang_ comes from the front of the car. Robin jumps a foot, slamming the top of her head into Steve’s chin as Steve knocks his elbow against the steering wheel.

He swings around to look through the windshield and finds Dustin standing in front of the car which, Steve realizes, has been parked in his driveway this entire time. He’s grinning like a doofus, his missing teeth making him look younger than he is.

Steve rolls down his window. “ _What,_ Henderson? We were having a moment!”

Dustin frowns, suddenly concerned.

Robin scrubs under her eyes, real quick, catching the dripping eyeliner before she leans across the gear shift to talk to Dustin, too. “I’m fine, squirt,” she says. “We’ll get out of your driveway soon.”

“I thought you were making out, maybe,” Dustin says.

“So you came to _watch?_ ” Steve sputters. 

“No, asshole! I thought I’d tell you to get out of my driveway before my mom came home!” Dustin says, his face red. 

He looks so shy, suddenly, way less confident than usual, no know-it-all attitude in sight. It’s kind of funny, actually. Steve finds himself biting back a smile and can tell, without checking, that Robin’s doing the same. “Well, thanks for looking out for us, bud,” Steve says. He wants to ruffle Dustin’s hair but he’s still in his car and, besides, Dustin’s getting old for that, anyway. 

“Yeah, thanks, kid,” Robin says. 

Dustin shuffles his feet nervously. “Okay,” he says, looking like he doesn’t know what else to say. “Feel better, Robin.”

They wave at him and then Steve throws the car in reverse and gets the fuck out of there before Dustin’s faith in his ability to keep his girlfriends happy disappears completely. He comes up on Robin’s house fast, because Hawkins really is stupid-small, and rolls into her driveway with the radio playing, soft and sweet. Over the radio, the ABBA girls croon, _look into his angel eyes, one look and you’re hypnotized._

If Jonathan were here, he’d look over, betrayed, and say _fucking ABBA? Really, Harrington?_ Genuinely, comically offended, but Robin just sits and lets the music wash over here in silence. Robin and Steve shamefully and secretly love playing ABBA loud enough to echo through Steve’s big house. Love to twirl around the shining wood floors in their socks.

Steve doesn’t know what Nancy thinks of ABBA. The not knowing hurts his chest. 

“Alright,” Robin sighs. “Alright, I’ve got to go get ready.”

“You’ve got this,” Steve says, reaching over and rubbing her neck comfortingly. He remembers how nervous he was, way back before he went on his first date, and besides, Robin looks like she could use the comforting. 

“I’ve got this,” Robin nods. She leans over and pecks him on the cheek, then says, “and shower before you go to Jonathan’s! You smell like a barn.”

Steve sniffs his shirt and then glares at her, betrayed, as she hops out of his car. “Have I smelled like this _all morning?_ Robin Buckley, fucking answer me! Hey!” 

But she’s running to her front door, cackling like a witch, and all she does is flip him off. Steve sighs and puts the car back in reverse. Fuck, but he’s got… two and a half hours before he’s supposed to be at Jonathan’s. Something tight squeezes his lungs, something like fear but not quite. A feeling like standing in line at the amusement park, staring up at the highest rollercoaster peak and thinking, _soon._

Steve takes a deep breath. Alright. Two and a half hours: more than enough time to take a shower, and to scrounge up a pack of beers, and to stop his heart from pounding, pounding, pounding in his chest.

  



	2. no such thing as gin and platonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there's a lot of monologuing from Steve, several important conversations, and a baby.

It’s cold out. That’s what Steve’s focusing on: the cold. It’s cold out, and his fingers are going numb, but he can’t make himself get up. He’s sitting in his car, the heat up as high as it can go. It’s not enough— frost is creeping over the windows anyway. Jonathan’s old house is still and empty in front of him, the lights shining butter yellow through the windows. It looks nice. Welcoming.

God, what the hell is he doing here?

This is such a stupid idea. Shit, this is so stupid. What the fuck does he think he’s going to do, just show up on the porch of Jonathan Byers’ old house with a pack of beer and a bottle of gin and… hang? Fucking just stand around and _talk_ to the pair of them for a couple hours?

God, he’s such an idiot. This is such bullshit. It’s bullshit that they can make him feel like this, like his chest is too small. Like he’s a kid staring up at his parents, and the slew of nannys and babysitters and fucking sixth-grade-teachers he tried to replace his parents with, begging and begging to matter to _someone,_ fucking _anyone_. He doesn’t know why he’s here, other than the fact that they asked him, and he’d do… well, he’d do a lot of shit just because they ask him to. He’s come to terms with that. But he doesn’t know if he can do _this,_ doesn’t know if he can stand in Jonathan Byers’ home while Nancy smiles at him and plays hostess and they walk around, patching up the walls where a monster tried to get through, again, like they’re the fucking Scooby gang. Like they’re all members of a little group, like they’re all _equal,_ when it’s clearly two against one and that’s never been good odds, not for anything. 

Steve’s worked himself up so good he can’t feel his fingers. He can’t remember the last time he panicked this hard. Well, he can: it was three weeks ago when nobody could find Dustin _or_ Mike _or_ Max and the lights had been going out and people had been getting electrocuted. 

But he can’t remember the last time he was this scared for _himself,_ this worried about breaking his own goddamn heart. He’s just gotten himself put back together, is _just now_ screwing himself back into the shape of a good person, a confident person, and they could undo all his hard work so, so easily. 

Part of why being with Robin works so well is because she didn’t know the old Steve, not really, never even met him. Sure, she saw him in the halls, or in Mrs. Click’s class or whatever, but he’d never talked to her. She knows how big of a douchebag he was, sure, and she knows how insecure he was, how desperate he was, how scared of fucking everything he’d been, all the time, but she didn’t _know_ him then. He’s better now. He’s put himself back together and he’s got friends, and little shitheads he loves, and he’s building a little family of two, just him and Robin against the world, and he doesn’t want to fuck that up.

Some part of him thinks that being around Jonathan and Nancy is going to make him relapse, thinks they’re going to say something and he’s just going to lose it, is going to lash out to protect his already-fragile and cracked heart and God, he can’t do that to them. He can’t do that to them because they’re _them,_ they’re… they mean so much to him, and fuck knows how he's gotten to the point of caring about Byers this damn much but he _does,_ and he's _always_ cared about Nancy. So he can't do that to them. But he also can’t do that to _himself._ He can’t go back to being that shallow, guarded, _terrified_ person. He can’t. He fucking _won’t._

He’s about to just reverse out of Jonathan’s driveway and head to Robin’s except, wait, he can’t because she’s at Monica Horowitz’s, and he’d cut his hair off before he interrupts Robin’s _first date_ of _all time._

So he takes a breath. He tries to talk himself down, because he’s catastrophizing, or whatever Dustin and Will called it that one time Dustin sat him down and put Will on speaker phone and gave him an impromptu therapy session. He thinks about seeing Nancy around, at the grocery store and in the mall and when he’s in her fucking basement playing Dungeons and Doofuses with the little idiots. Thinks about smiling at her, and talking with her, and helping her hunt down Mike in the middle of the night because she’s _certain_ he’s gone off and done something stupid. 

He thinks about the times he’s been at Dustin’s house and Dustin’s handed him the phone and said _Jonathan’s got a question for you_ and left Steve alone to answer it. Thinks about Jonathan Byers’ voice, quiet and shy over the phone line, like he’s not sure why he’s calling or _what_ he’s asking Steve, exactly, but he's determined to do it anyway. Thinks about how much he regretted not swinging by to see Jonathan and the rest of the Byers clan off.

Steve forces his fingers to loosen their grip on the steering wheel, imagines Robin telling him to _slow down and take a breath, dumbass, you’re going to be fine._

He thinks about brunch, just two and a half hours ago, and how good it felt to sit across from them, how good it was to see them together, happy and stupidly in love with each other, even if it had hurt a little. It had hurt, and he’s sitting here and he’s fine, isn’t he? He’s fine and he’s been fine, and when he inevitably feels bruised and fragile from the day spent watching them dance around each other he’ll go home to Robin, and they’ll scream along to Queen and cry at movies and eat pot brownies on the floor at two in the morning.

He’s going to be fine. 

A curtain flutters in the front window, a pale hand moving it to the side and then setting it back in place as quickly as possible. He can’t tell if it was Jonathan or Nancy, the hand is there and gone so fast, but Steve smiles, just a little, and then thinks _that’s more like it_ and forces the smile bigger. It’s not as hard as it maybe should be. He turns the car off. He grabs the backpack full of alcohol because, fuck, they just might need it, and then grabs his nail bat out from under his front seat just in case. It’s always better to be safe than sorry where the Byers house is concerned. 

He feels more solid with it in his hand, feels more like himself again, or at least feels more like the self that he’s been recently. Someone capable, someone steady, someone dependable. Someone who can get through these next couple hours without Robin to hold his hand.

Fuck, he wishes Robin were here. Wishes he didn’t have to just _imagine_ her telling him to slow down and take a breath. He misses her in a weird, new way that he’s still getting used to. It’s not codependence, not quite, because he doesn’t _need_ her with him, he knows he doesn’t. He’s never _needed_ anyone, not in his whole life: he learned that lesson young and he learned it good. It’s maybe the only lesson that’s ever really, truly stuck, the only thing he knows down to his bones. 

So, fine, he doesn’t need Robin, but he’s coming to terms with the fact that he wants her around, like, all the time. That things are just more _fun_ when Robin’s around. Less scary. It’s nice to have someone who he knows, no doubt anywhere in his head or heart, will never, ever hate him, or leave him, because she knows he’d never, ever do either of those things to her. It’s nice to be on an equal playing-field with someone and not clutching at their coat begging them not to leave him behind.

He thinks he wants something like that with Jonathan and Nancy, too. Something where nobody feels left behind, or left out, or stuck watching something fucking _amazing_ happen in front of them but are unable to join in. Because he can’t do this, whatever this is, if it’s just going to make him feel like… like _this_ all the time. Maybe once he would’ve been fine with it, before Robin. Would’ve just accepted that feeling a little abandoned is just the price of being friends with Jonathan and Nancy. But not now, not now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like for someone to be his friend, for someone to really, _honestly_ love him— not just tolerate him but _love_ him and enjoy his company. Maybe being friends with Robin has changed him irreversibly in some way, or maybe he’s just finally found some goddamn self-respect.

Maybe this is just what growing up is.

With that final, kind-of sort-of encouraging thought, he marches up to Jonathan Byers’ door and knocks before he can lose his nerve. Because he’s _not_ the same Steve he was three years ago, and Jonathan’s _not_ the same Jonathan, and Nancy’s not the same Nancy, and he wants to get to know these new versions of them almost as much as he wants them to know, really know, this new version of _him._

The door swings open right after he knocks. Like, _right_ after he knocks, as though they were standing on the other side of the door just waiting for him.

“Steve!” Jonathan and Nancy chorus, shoulder to shoulder in the crowded entryway.

Steve blinks at them. “Hey, guys,” he manages, holding his bat and backpack in front of him like peace offerings. 

Jonathan’s hair is flopping over his forehead, limp and brown and in that same lame-ass style it’s always in, and for some reason that makes Steve’s heart turn over in his chest. Jonathan’s got this quiet, shy smile on his face, like he’s not sure how happy he’s allowed to feel, and fuck, yeah, this was such a bad idea, because now Steve’s trying to slow his heart down by looking away from Jonathan at _Nancy,_ which really does just prove that Steve’s an idiot, because never once in his life has Nancy Wheeler made his heart beat _slower._

“You’re here!” Jonathan says, and then winces like he regrets it, shuts his eyes like he can’t believe the words came out of his mouth.

Steve laughs, because he can’t help it, but it doesn’t come out mean, which he’s relieved about. It just sounds… happy. Normal. “I’m here,” he agrees, and then thinks, fuck it. No way out but through and he’d fucking fought monsters for the two of them and he’d do it again and, anyway, he’s a fucking Harrington, and Harringtons are charming even when they’re cold in the ground. 

So he busses a kiss onto Nancy’s cheek and swings his arm around Jonathan for a quick hug and then walks in like he’s been in the Byers place a million times before, which isn’t exactly true, and like he’s beaten monsters to a pulp here with only a bat and a can-do attitude, which is. 

Jonathan and Nancy hang back for a second and he doesn’t look back to check whether they’re angry with him already or just stunned. He thinks maybe that’s character growth or what the fuck ever Mike would call it. 

The house is weirdly empty, eerier than he’d maybe noticed those few days ago, because he’d been fucking distracted by the monster and Hopper coming back from the dead, but it is eerie. Kind of sad, without the furniture or books or drawings taped up on the walls. Steve doesn’t know what to do, exactly, so he sprawls out on the ground and opens up his bag. He puts the beer and gin on one side of the bag and the duct tape, various bolts and nails, screw-drivers and hammers, electrical tape, super-glue, and hard tack and wall putty on the other. 

“Alright, Scooby Gang,” Steve says, clapping his hands together and staring up at them. “What do we want to do first? I’ve got beer, I’ve got gin, and I’ve got, like, half of a hardware store.”

Nancy stares at him for a long time and then, slowly, and so beautiful it feels like looking at the sun, a smile creeps up onto her face. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “All me and Jonathan brought was a record player and his camera. Oh, and some blankets, because it’s fucking _cold_ outside.” 

Steve laughs, a short bark of a thing, because what the fuck? “What the hell were you going to do with that?” He asks, amused, because aren’t they supposed to be the smart ones? The planners?

“Honestly, Jonathan panicked a little when he was talking to you,” Nancy says. There’s a strained, hissed, _what the fuck, Nancy,_ from Jonathan but Nancy ignores it. “We were just going to come hang out for a while, get him away from his hotel room and all the screaming thirteen year olds, and we thought it’d be fun for you to come.” 

“Huh,” Steve says, because yeah, that makes more sense than whatever they were planning on doing to fix the fucking _electrical wiring,_ but he didn’t want to show up looking like an idiot, all empty-handed, so he’d raided his garage and then a hardware store and now he looks like an idiot anyway. “Shit, guess I look stupid now.” 

“No!” Nancy says. She kneels down to look at all the shit he's brought, close enough that her shoulder brushes his. “No, you don’t! It’s, it’s really sweet, that you’d go through all that trouble. You know, for us. To help us.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that so he plows right past it. “Well, you’d better let me pick a record, then, because I know what type of shit Byers likes to listen to, and I’m not subjecting myself to that. Don’t know how you cope with it all the time, Nance.”

Jonathan startles, coming back to life like someone’s un-paused him. “Fuck _off,_ Steve, you listen to ABBA!” 

“What’s wrong with ABBA?” Steve and Nancy spit, defensive, at the same time. 

Jonathan stares at them both, his eyes flicking back and forth. He looks baffled. It’s funny as fuck, and suddenly Steve’s locking eyes with Nancy and they’re giggling. And it’s easy. It’s so easy. She’s leaning her head on his shoulder, almost snorting with laughter, and it’s like no time has passed at all, suddenly. Feels like he’s back in eleventh grade and giggling with her over Shakespeare’s dick jokes. The dick jokes had only been that funny because she’d had to explain them to him, increasingly awkward, because Steve couldn’t parse the Ye Olde Shakespeare lingo for shit. 

“What do you mean 'what’s wrong with ABBA'?” Jonathan sputters. Steve might be wrong, because he’s laughing so hard his eyes are tearing up, but he thinks there’s a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Everything’s fucking wrong with ABBA!”

Steve tips over and takes Nancy with him. They end up sprawled out on the floor, the unopened bottle of gin at their feet. Their shoes kick through the screws and nails, scattering them. Nancy tucks her face into his neck and, God, but her hair still smells the same. 

“Snob,” Steve says, a little of the laughter gone from his voice, and Nancy quiets down, too, like she’s noticed the change. “You’re a music snob, Byers.” He rolls away from Nancy, gentle as he can, cradling her head for a split-second to make sure she doesn’t hit it and then sitting up. Her hair is soft against the back of his hand. Her neck is warm. 

It’s over in a blink.

He leans up, casual as he can, and tosses his arms over his knees. His chest aches, a little, but then it always aches around Nancy and Jonathan. It’s barely even noteworthy, now. 

“Two against one, Byers,” Steve grins. “We’re listening to ABBA.”

“We’re not. I didn’t bring any ABBA, because I have taste,” Jonathan says, all condescending and passive-aggressive. Fuck, but Steve must’ve lost his mind somewhere in these past three years, because he thinks it’s fucking _endearing._

He shares a look with Nancy, the two of them glancing at each other and then Jonathan. Her eyes are sparkling, dancing, and she’s so beautiful, and for once it’s simple. He knows what she’s thinking, and she knows what he’s thinking. They team up the same way they used to, back before Jonathan, before everything. Just the two of them together, popular and pretty and used to getting their way. Steve knows what the plan is. Doesn’t even have to ask.

They’re making Jonathan listen to ABBA.

“Oh, weird, Jonathan, because I actually have the Waterloo record in my car, and Nancy wants to listen. You wouldn’t say no to Nancy, would you?” He says, making his eyes big and wide, and he knows Nancy does the same. His heart is turning over in his chest and, fuck, but he loves Nancy. Loves her still, loves her like something clicking back into place inside his chest. Loving her feels like throwing open the windows on his big, empty house in the spring and letting fresh air in.

He loves the stupid look on Jonathan’s face, too, his eyes squinting like he’s staring at the sun, his lips pursed together so he doesn’t smile.

“You’ve got an ABBA record with you?” Nancy says, looking at Steve like he hung the moon and not just confessed to having an embarrassing disco record in the back seat of his car.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s a present for Robin, but she won’t mind us listening to it.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

Everything freezes, Jonathan and Nancy going still, and he doesn’t know _why._ Jonathan’s face goes blank and shut away, the way he almost never looks anymore. Nancy scowls, reflexively, and then smoothes her face over, too, until she looks politely interested. Suddenly, Steve understands, and it’s so obvious but it also doesn’t make any sense. 

They must not _like_ Robin, which is insane, because how could they not like _Robin?_ Robin is his best friend, he loves Robin more than anything in the entire world. He wants them to like Robin, he _needs_ them to like Robin, because he knows that if push came to shove he’d side with Robin over them, no questions asked. He doesn’t _want_ to, but he would. If it came to that. 

Which it won’t, because he’s going to get to the bottom of this right now.

“Alright,” he says, his voice suddenly hard. “Do you guys have a problem with Robin?” 

“No!” Nancy says, immediately. She can’t look him in the eye, though, and suddenly all he can think of is that stupid Halloween party two years ago, and how she hid herself away and twisted herself up until their relationship got all twisted up, too. He knows she’s not telling the truth. 

“Bullshit,” he spits. Nancy’s head flies up and she stares him in the eye, angry and confused. “Come on, Nance, give me some credit here. Whenever I talk about her you two get all weird, and you lied to her this morning, Jonathan.” Because there’s no weird monster bodies left scattered around, and they’re not planning on fixing up anything, they’re planning on listening to records and drinking. There’s no fucking reason Robin couldn’t come.

He’s getting so mad he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stands up and Nancy scrambles up, too. Jonathan’s staring at him with a weird expression on his face, and then Jonathan looks away to look at Nancy, like he thinks Nancy can fix this. 

“Steve…” Nancy says.

“No, you tell me the truth or I leave,” Steve says. 

It all hurts again, suddenly. It feels personal. If they don’t like Robin, who Steve loves more than anything, then they sure as hell won’t like the new Steve he’s become. So he’s angry, preemptively defensive for himself. More than that, though, he’s angry for Robin, who worked so hard this morning at brunch, who’s been nothing but polite to them, has done nothing but watch out for Steve. Robin who is on her very first date today and who Steve is going to see after this. Robin who is his _family,_ and he never knew the importance of that word, not until her.

“We’re jealous,” Jonathan blurts. 

It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to say _what?_ But he waits, because he thinks he’s starting to figure them out, starting to figure out how they work together. Jonathan cuts right to the heart of it, blurts out a sentence or two and then gets so embarrassed he doesn’t speak again, and then Nancy sweeps in behind him, settles everything down, elaborates, soothes, explains. 

Steve doesn’t want to be mad at them. He waits for Nancy to talk.

Sure enough, Nancy swoops in, leaning forward and putting her hand on Steve’s arm, but not before she darts a glare at Jonathan. 

“We just mean… well, everyone’s seen so much of you, Steve. We’ve barely seen you at all, not like the kids have, and not… not like Robin has. And that’s partly, hell, mostly our fault, I guess, but… we want to try.” 

Steve stares at her, and then at Jonathan, who lifts his head and nods, embarrassed and determined to face it head on. His eyes look dark, so dark they’re almost black even though Steve knows they’re brown. Steve gets swallowed up by them as easily as he gets swallowed up by Nancy’s blue ones. 

The angry, hurting feeling in his chest tightens up a little and then relaxes, all at once. He quirks his lips at Jonathan and receives a stunned, almost desperate smile in return. He doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t know what to do with any of this, but fuck: he’s never turned around on them when the going’s gotten tough before. He doesn’t intend to start now.

He looks down at Nancy and lets himself tuck her hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed you. Both of you.” Jonathan creeps toward them, nervous, and he looks like he could use a good hug, but Steve doesn’t know him well enough for that, not yet, so all he does is clap a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “But you’ve got to be cool with Robin. We’re a package deal.”

Nancy bites her lip. She looks nervous and a little scared, but determined, too. Whatever comes out of her mouth is something she doesn’t really want to know, then. Before, Steve never understood that impulse of hers. Used to tell her that if she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer she shouldn’t ask the question. He gets it a little more than he used to, three years wiser and with a couple of monster apocalypses under his belt. But he still doesn’t _get it_ , not entirely.

Jonathan’s always understood that part of her way better than he ever did. It’s part of why they’re such a good couple.

“You guys are… pretty serious, then,” Nancy says, her eyes big and dark and shiny. “You and Robin.” 

Oh, _shit,_ that’s _right,_ him and Robin are pretending to date. He'd forgotten, somehow. 

Steve scrambles for something to tell her that isn’t a lie.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her,” Steve finally says. It’s true, too: he can feel it all the way down to his bones, feels it the same way he did three years ago when he planted himself in front of Jonathan and Nancy and looked at a monster and thought _you won’t get through me, motherfucker._ Feels it down to his bones the same way he felt it when Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Mike looked at him, terrified in that tunnel, and he planted himself in front of them and thought the same thing.

It’s not precognition, it’s not seeing the future, it’s not blind confidence. It’s him knowing, _knowing,_ that he’s going to make it happen if it fucking kills him, if he’s got to do it by the skin of his teeth with a nail-bat in his hands. 

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her,” he says again. More a promise to himself, this time, than an explanation for Nancy and Jonathan, because come hell or monsters or Russians or high water, him and Robin will be together to the end. “I need you guys to be okay with that.” 

Nancy’s eyes well up with tears, and Jonathan bites his lip, hard. Steve doesn’t know why they’re looking like that but he can’t let them _stay_ looking like that, so he pulls them against his chest.

Nancy’s just as small and deceptively fragile-looking as she’s ever been. She goes easy, just tucks her face into his shirt and stays there. Jonathan stays stiff. He doesn’t come as readily as Nancy, but Steve just puts a little more muscle into it and soon Jonathan’s face is tucked down against Steve’s shoulder, right by his neck. Steve chews his lip, trying to figure out which part of this is making them sad, trying to figure out how to fix it. He feels stupid, but he needs to say something, so he takes his best shot and hopes it works. 

“But you guys are important to me too,” he finally says, and Nancy goes still and Jonathan breathes out hard. “Shit, did you guys think you weren’t? I love Robin but I love… I love both of you, too. Of course I do. Of course I do, fuck, me meeting Robin doesn’t change that. We’re still the, like, original monster-killers, guys. Nothing’s gonna replace that.” 

Neither of them move, though, just stay tucked up against him. Steve tries really, really hard not to like it. Tries really hard not to get used to it. He just… well, a part of him— the part that he beat down forever ago and tries not to think about— really, _really_ likes holding them. Likes supporting them, protecting them. Comforting them. 

“Come on, guys. Hey, perk up.” His voice is soft like how it gets sometimes when he finds one of the kids crying. He rubs his cheek against Jonathan’s bowed head and then plants a kiss on Nancy’s hair. “How ‘bout I get that record. Me and Nance will re-introduce you to ABBA, Jonathan, and we can open up the gin. Huh? How ‘bout that?” 

Jonathan breathes out hard against his throat and Nancy sighs. “Yeah,” she says, looking up at him with a weird, sad smile on her face. “Yeah, let’s do that.” 

It’d taken a while to get the mood back, but Steve’s finally got a party going. Nancy’s up on her feet, dancing and twirling, and Steve is jumping around because he can’t really dance but he loves to move to the music anyway. Jonathan’s staring back and forth between them, like he can’t decide where to put his eyes, and Steve does a stupid shimmy just to make him laugh. 

When he’d gone out to get the record, he thought he’d play a couple songs then leave. Give them the gin as a fucking housewarming gift or whatever and then get the hell out of dodge. But when he went back in they both looked so relieved to see him. Their smiles were warm enough to heat up the abandoned house and so he’d smiled back, because what else could he have done? So he’d put on the record and watched Jonathan’s face screw up in disgust; so he’d opened the gin and started drinking straight from the bottle and then got up to dance with Nancy. So what?

They’re on their eighth song and Jonathan’s starting to look twitchy. He’s clasping his hands, twisting his fingers, ducking his head. His cheeks are flushing red, and he’s glancing between Nancy and Steve like they’ve got a gun to his head. He keeps shifting and Steve thinks he looks uncomfortable but, like, in a good way. It’s a good look on him.

 _And now I know what they mean, you’re a love machine,_ the record sings, and Steve tosses his head back and laughs, drunk and swaying with it. He spins around in a circle, once then twice, like he does when he’s alone with Robin. Nancy shrieks with laughter then copies him.

They take a deep breath. 

“Oh you make me dizzy!” Steve and Nancy burst, like they just can’t contain it anymore. Like they rehearsed it. Jonathan sputters like he’s choked on his tongue and there’s nothing to do but lean in and go with it. Anything to keep Jonathan looking like this: drunk even though he hasn’t touched the gin bottle at all, not like Steve and Nancy.

Jonathan turns redder and Steve giggles harder. 

“Honey, honey, let me feel it! Ah-ha, honey, honey!” Steve sings, as loud as he can, because fuck it: he already looks like an idiot. They’ve seen him do stupider shit. And besides, his singing voice isn’t half bad. 

“Honey, honey, don’t conceal it! Ah-ha, honey, honey.” Nancy half-shouts. She’s got her hair pulled back into a pony-tail, little strands sticking to her forehead, damp with sweat.

“You guys, quiet down,” Jonathan interrupts. “Someone’s going to hear us and call the cops.”

“What would Hopper do to us?” Nancy scoffs, twirling again. Steve grabs her and spins her out then back in, their chests pressing flush together. He leads her in a wild, swinging two-step, like they’re in a ‘40s bar.

“Are you two _swing dancing_ to _disco music?”_ Jonathan sputters. 

Steve looks at Nancy, where her face is close to his, and all he can feel is his heart swelling. All he can feel is love so deep and wide he wonders how he ever thought he’d moved past it. He grins at her and she smiles back, wider than he’s seen it in a while.

“Guys,” Jonathan whines.

“Honey, honey, touch me baby! Ah-ha, honey, honey!” Steve and Nancy chorus, throwing their heads back. Steve can barely breathe, he’s laughing so hard, and Nancy’s not much better. 

Steve dances them over to Jonathan where, as one, they let go of each other and reach for Jonathan’s hands, Steve grabbing the left and Nancy the right. They pull him up but Jonathan refuses to move, just stands stiff and happy while they dance around him. Nancy shimmies up against Jonathan’s front while Steve circles them, pulling the stupidest moves he can think of.

They dance like that for the rest of the song, Jonathan smiling but refusing to move, Steve and Nancy just laughing and acting like idiots. The song starts winding down, turning quieter, the ABBA ladies crooning _I’d heard about you before… I wanted to know some more…_

Steve collapses down by the record player and turns the volume down, just a little. He unscrews the cap on the gin bottle, a third of the way gone now, and tips his head back.

“Oh, me next,” Nancy says, sitting down hard beside him. She leans into his side and Steve lifts his arm up automatically. She snuggles in close. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” Steve asks Jonathan, passing Nancy the bottle.

Jonathan gives a wry grin. “I’d better not, the rate you two are going. Someone’s got to drive us all back.” 

“Oh,” Steve says, because somehow he forgot he drove here.

“We can swing by and get your car tomorrow,” Jonathan says.

Steve stares at him, touched. Jonathan is backlit by the winter light and he looks every bit as beautiful as Nancy. “Thanks, man.”

“Come over here,” Nancy says, flapping her hand at Jonathan. “Why are you over there?”

Jonathan gives a little huff of a laugh, like he doesn’t know why he’s so far away either, and he walks over and plops down on Steve’s other side. Something in Steve’s brain shorts out at that, because he didn’t think… well, just, why would Jonathan sit by _him?_ There’s nothing but open space here in this empty living-room, nothing blocking Nancy’s other side. He likes that Jonathan is next to him, though. Likes it a lot. 

Steve throws his other arm around Jonathan’s shoulders. Maybe, _maybe_ Jonathan leans into it. Steve can’t tell: his balance is a little off from the gin. He lets himself lean into Jonathan and he pulls Nancy along until Jonathan gives out under the weight, all three of them tumbling to the floor like dominos. 

Nancy’s head is on his stomach, and his head is on Jonathan’s stomach. Every time he breathes Steve's head rises up, and every time Steve breathes Nancy's head does the same. It's a weird feeling. Cautiously, and so, so gently, Jonathan settles his hand on Steve’s shoulder, by the base of his neck. Nancy twists her fingers in his jacket. She scoots up until her ear is on Steve’s chest. Steve freezes, because maybe if he doesn’t move, they won’t realize what they’re doing. Maybe if he doesn’t move they won’t stop.

Nancy takes a breath and Jonathan echoes her, like they’re connected. 

“Tell us about Robin,” Jonathan says.

Against his chest, he feels Nancy nod, like she’s agreeing. Like she knew what Jonathan was going to say. 

“Alright,” Steve says, a little baffled but still willing. Fuck, he could talk about Robin all day. And besides, this could help them get over whatever weird… jealousy _thing_ they’ve got going. Steve wants the four of them to be friends, wants it so bad he can taste it. 

He wracks his brain for somewhere to start and comes up blank. It’s not because he’s got nothing to talk about, though. It’s because there’s too much. He’s never learned anything about Robin he didn’t immediately work to memorize, that he didn’t immediately carve into the crevices of his heart. 

“She loves big dogs,” he finally says, and it’s like he’s opened floodgates. Suddenly, words come tumbling out of his mouth and he just can’t stop them. “She’s allergic to cats, but she loves them too. She plays the clarinet in band which is, like, totally nerdy but she loves it a lot. She makes me paint her nails because when she does it they look too sloppy. She’s, like, way smarter and braver and cooler than me. She hogs all the blankets when we have sleepovers, and I keep telling her she snores but she refuses to believe me even though it’s completely true. She had crooked teeth as a kid, and she had braces for a long time, so she’s still shy when she smiles. But she’s got the _best_ smile in the world.”

Steve smiles at the thought, because just thinking about Robin, just talking about her, makes him happy. He’s ready to keep talking, ready to tell them, oh, Robin loves to roller-skate, and she loves disco, and she loves barbecue wings, but Nancy talks first.

“She sounds really cool, Steve,” Nancy says, her voice thick and slow.

Jonathan clears his throat and when he talks his voice cracks. “Yeah. Yeah, she sounds great.” 

They don't sound totally convinced, but Steve knows they'd like her, if they spent more time with her. It took him a while to warm up to Robin, after all, and now he loves her more than anything. “Hey, maybe we can all go on double dates!” Steve says, because it sounds like a great way for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin to learn each other. For Steve to re-learn Nancy and Jonathan. 

There’s a pause, and then:

“What?” Nancy and Jonathan spit, together.

Steve really loves this idea, though. The gin is making him feel warm, and he’s sandwiched between them, more comfortable than he’s maybe ever been. “Yeah! Time spent with my three favorite people!” 

He can imagine it: getting to tag along with Jonathan and Nancy when they go bowling, when they go to dinner, when they go to the movies, and having it _not be weird_ because Robin is there, too. He’d have Robin to talk to when Jonathan and Nancy kiss, when they whisper to each other in the car. He wouldn’t be a creepy, pathetic third wheel because he _wouldn’t be third wheeling!_

Nancy sighs through her nose. Below his head, Jonathan’s chest rises up, up, up, like he’s taking a deep breath and holding it.

Jonathan breathes out, slow. “Sure.” 

Nancy makes a bitten off noise, like she was about to argue and stopped herself. After a second, she says, “sure,” too, even though Steve knows she doesn’t actually want to. Steve wraps his arms around her in thanks. Squeezes her tight to his chest. Her fingers wind back into his jacket, tugging and then releasing. Under him, Jonathan breathes, steady. Steve lets his head rub back and forth as subtle and slow as he can. He presses his cheek to Jonathan’s chest and realizes he can hear Jonathan’s heartbeat, so he settles down and listens. 

“Where should we go?” Steve asks, wondering out loud, something in his chest feeling too tight and wide open all at once. “For our date. Our double date, I mean.”

Nancy and Jonathan don’t answer right away, just stay quiet for a while. Steve stays still, because he doesn’t want to interrupt them, and because he’s enjoying laying with them. He could stay like this forever, if they’d let him. 

“Bowling,” Nancy finally says. “We should go bowling.” 

“I love bowling!” Steve says, surprised.

“I know,” Nancy tells him. Her voice is thick like she’s trying not to laugh, but he can feel her breath against his neck, and it hitches like she’s sad. Steve rubs her back. He tries to remember how much they drank, because Nancy is a sensitive drunk, and maybe he should leave soon, let Jonathan cheer her up. 

“I’ve never gone,” Jonathan says. “So you’ll have to help me.” 

“We should go tomorrow,” Nancy says.

“Tomorrow?” Steve asks. It’s sooner than he expected, not that he’s complaining. He’d never complain about seeing Nancy and Jonathan more often. 

“Jonathan’s only staying for a couple more days,” Nancy says. “The rest of winter break, and then the Byerses are leaving. For school.” 

And there it is: the catch, the other shoe dropping out of the sky. Jonathan is leaving and Steve doesn’t know how he forgot, doesn’t know how he blocked that out. This is why Nancy’s so sad, he realizes, or at least part of the reason. Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want Jonathan to leave. He wants Jonathan to stay here, in Hawkins, even if that means he has to see Nancy and Jonathan kissing on street-corners and shopping for dinner in the supermarket. He wants them to be together: wants Nancy smiling like she does when Jonathan holds her hand, wants Jonathan’s eyes to crinkle like they do when he’s happy. 

Neither Jonathan or Nancy are very good at being alone, not like Steve. Well, alright, Steve’s not good at it either, but at least he _tries,_ at least he goes to parties and hangs with the kids and talks to people wherever he goes. Jonathan _wants_ to be good at being alone, but he’s not, because he doesn’t know how to stop being lonely once he starts. Nancy doesn’t know how to un-isolate herself either. It was just her and Barb for so long she forgot how to let people in. No, Nancy’s just got Jonathan, and Jonathan’s just got Nancy, and neither of them even realize how lonely that is. 

Well, maybe they do. Maybe they’ve realized, now that Jonathan’s had to move away.

“It sucks that you’re leaving, Jonathan,” Steve says. “I’m gonna miss you, man. I’ve _been_ missing you.” 

Nancy laughs, just a little. “Me, too.”

Jonathan makes a choked noise, all wet and thick, like something’s in his throat. Steve doesn’t look up at him. Can’t, he can’t look up at him, because if he looks, if he sees Jonathan’s face all delicate and sad like he knows it is he won’t be able to stop himself from holding Jonathan tight and never, ever letting him go. 

He doesn’t know how long they lay like that. A long time. Long enough that the gin glides through him and then fizzles out. Long enough that his nose gets cold, and his toes freeze in his boots, and his fingers go numb enough he worms them under Nancy’s jacket to warm them back up. Jonathan’s fingers are somehow pressed against Steve’s bare stomach, under his jacket and shirt, and Nancy’s got her nose tucked into Steve’s neck. 

He thinks maybe he’s asleep. Thinks maybe Jonathan and Nancy are asleep, too. Outside, the shadows get longer, the sun dipping below the bare trees, tinting everything sunset orange.

Just when Steve’s starting to think they’re all going to stay there until morning, the phone rings, shattering the lazy, melancholy peace. 

All three of them jump a foot in the air, sitting up so fast they all hit their heads together. 

“Holy shit,” Nancy curses. “Jonathan, why the fuck does your phone still work?”

“I don’t know, Nance!” Jonathan sputters. “The same reason the electricity still does? I don’t know!”

“Well are you gonna get it?” Steve asks, listening to the phone shriek. 

“Why the fuck would I get it!”

“It could be important and, like, this is _your_ house,” Steve tells him.

“It _was_ my house,” Jonathan grumbles, but he stands and heads to the hall by the kitchen. 

Nancy sighs then leans against Steve’s side. They both watch as Jonathan stomps over to the phone and answers it with a curt _what?_

Jonathan stands, a scowl etched onto his face, his forearm pressed against the wall and his forehead on his arm. The long line of his arm blends seamlessly into his broad shoulders which merges into his narrow waist. Steve’s throat goes dry, and his heart kicks, and Nancy’s breath ghosts across his neck. The realization hits him like a plate to the back of the head, hits him like those Russian drugs did: hits him hard enough to make the whole house spin, makes him dizzy, makes him feel like he’s about to pass out.

God, he’s the stupidest bastard in all of Indiana. How the hell did he miss this? How the hell did he miss this?

Jonathan looks over, his dark brown eyes darker in the shadows of his cold house, and Nancy’s hair smells like her orange shampoo, and Steve doesn’t know what to do. 

“It’s for you, Steve,” Jonathan says. “It’s Dustin.”

Thank God. 

Steve scrambles up quick enough that Nancy loses her balance and has to catch herself on her elbow. He walks quickly over to Jonathan and elbows him out of the way, fumbling the phone but catching it before it hits the wall. Jonathan and Nancy stare at him like he’s lost his fuckin’ mind but he can’t do this right now, he _cannot_ do this right now, and maybe Dustin needs him for something, _please God_ let Dustin need him for something. 

“Y-ello?” Steve says. Jonathan raises his eyebrows at him but Steve just shrugs and flaps his hand, shoos Jonathan back over to Nancy. They both cross their legs and lean their elbows on their knees, in identical positions with identical peering, curious looks on their faces.

Steve turns and faces the wall.

“Steve!” Dustin hollers through the phone. “Why are you at Will’s house?”

Steve pauses for a second, debating the answer, before deciding to blow past it. “What do you want, dipshit?”

“What do you know about babies?” Dustin asks.

Everything freezes as Steve has a goddamn heart attack. He strains his ears. In the background he can hear the kids, all yelling over each other, near frantic, Max shouting at Mike who is shouting at Lucas, El loudly defending Max. And then, piercing through it all like a siren, comes the long, high-pitched wail of a baby.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve sighs. “I’ll be right there.” 

Okay, the baby was _not_ Dustin’s fault. He wants that on the record: the baby was not his fault. The Party was just supposed to come over to watch movies and maybe critique the new campaign Mike was cooking up for Will. There wasn’t supposed to be any babies. But Dustin’s mom was watching his little cousin Ronny when there was some sort of emergency and she had to leave. Not a big emergency, nobody was dying or anything, but it had something to do with Mrs. O’Connell’s failing marriage and Dustin’s mom had to be there for, like, moral support or something. And they told her they’d watch Ronny because how hard could it be, right? They were thirteen years old, that was _way_ bigger than a baby. They could out-smart a baby easily.

Except they can’t, as it turns out. Apparently it's not so much about outsmarting a baby as it is catering to the baby's every whim, and Dustin has _no_ _idea_ how to do that.

They’re all scattered around his living room, staring at the baby on the floor. Ronny’s only, like, three months old and he won’t stop crying and none of them know what to do. They’d tried holding him, except none of them were very good at that, and Ronny started squirming around and they were all afraid he’d get dropped, so they’d set him flat on his back on a blanket and tried not to bother him. It had worked, for a while, but then Ronny started crying and it’s been _forty minutes_ and Dustin doesn’t know what to do.

“How do we get it to _stop?”_ Max hisses at him, a frantic look on her face. 

“When is Steve getting here?” Lucas whines, holding his head.

“Everybody shut up!” Mike says. “Who knows how to change a diaper?”

“Jesus Christ,” a new voice says, and Dustin’s heart leaps in his chest. “Why the fuck do you infants have an infant?”

“Steve!” All of them chorus. Max and Lucas look like they might cry, they’re so relieved, and Dustin feels the same way. Even Mike looks a little starry-eyed, and he’s almost never impressed by Steve.

Steve is standing in the door, backlit by the street lights with his hands on his hips. He’s got on a nice shirt, and it’s still half tucked into his belt, so he must’ve been somewhere important. He’s scowling at them but his eyes are soft. All of Dustin’s air leaves him in a whoosh, his shoulders relaxing automatically. _Steve’s here,_ the part of him that’s still a little kid thinks, _Steve will fix it._

“Why is the baby on the fucking floor?” Steve asks, baffled, before slamming the door shut and striding across the room. He picks Ronny up easily and Ronny tucks his face into Steve’s neck, his wails fading to whimpers. Steve rubs his back easily and now _Dustin_ feels like whimpering, he’s so relieved.

“Thank god,” Max says, sitting down hard on the floor.

Lucas collapses beside her, and Will sits down beside Lucas. Will is staring at Steve with a weird expression on his face, all narrowed eyes and suspicion. Dustin can’t focus on that, though, because El is looking at Steve with big, wet eyes, like she might cry.

“Did we hurt him?” She asks, her voice thick. Mike almost leaps across the room to hold her hand.

“No!” Mike reassures her, but El doesn’t look convinced, like, at all.

“He was crying,” she says, yanking her hand away and frowning. “He wouldn’t stop.”

Steve sighs, a gentle smile on his face. He tucks Ronny firmer into his neck and leans down and kisses Ronny’s tiny blond head. He walks over to El and puts his free hand on her shoulder. “No, kiddo, babies just cry, like, a shitload. Sometimes there’s not anything you can do about it other than wait for them to stop. You did just fine. It was good you called me,” he adds, turning to look at Dustin.

Dustin puffs his chest out, just a little, because he’d _told_ them Steve would know what to do. El nods and then lets Mike grab her hand again. She goes to sit next to Max, who grabs El’s other hand. Lucas tosses an arm around Max’s shoulders, and now Dustin feels weird for still standing around, so he goes to sit by Will. 

They all end up watching Steve as he putzes around, rocking Ronny gently and crooning to him. His big hands swallow up Ronny’s back and he doesn’t complain when Ronny drools on his jacket, even though Dustin knows it’s his favorite jacket and it costs a ton of money to dry-clean. Not that anyone would admit it, not even Dustin, but Steve’s cooing works its magic on them, too, and soon they’re all slumped on the ground, exhausted from panicking. Dustin watches as Steve rummages through the baby bag and comes up with a bottle and a pacifier.

“It’s stressful when babies cry,” Steve says, glancing over at them. He’s all confidence, now, more settled than when he’d first arrived. Less jittery. “Especially when they cry for a long time. It’s something in, like, our sub-nauseous.” 

“You mean subconscious,” Mike, Dustin, and Lucas correct. 

“Whatever,” Steve dismisses, settling in Dustin’s mom’s favorite chair and putting Ronny on his knees. Ronny stares up at him and gurgles.

“Why were you at my house?” Will asks, abruptly.

Steve pauses, glancing at Will and then back at Ronny, like he’s trying to think of something to say. “I was hanging out with your brother and Nancy,” he finally answers. There’s a weird look on his face Dustin can’t pin down. It’s sad and happy and, like, hungry? All at once. It’s such a crazy expression Dustin has to look away from it and stare at the floor for a while. 

Will’s mouth opens like he’s going to ask something else, but Dustin talks over him because Will’s not asking the right questions. 

“Who _cares_ about Jonathan and Nancy,” Dustin says. “I want to know when you and Robin started dating!” 

Max and Lucas jolt like something shocked them, both of them straightening up so fast they knock their knees together. Even Mike goes still and quiet, eager to hear the answer. Or maybe that’s just because El sets her head on his shoulder. 

It’s only Will that isn’t curious. Will just frowns at Steve like he’s trying to figure something out. Dustin elbows Will in the side, warning him not to say anything. Will elbows him back but stays quiet, which Dustin is grateful for. If Dustin doesn’t find out _right now_ how Steve and Robin got together, he’s going to lose his shit. The fucking _Russians_ couldn’t get them to admit they liked each other! Whatever happened has to be, like, the biggest, most romantic, most heart-stopping thing in the world. 

He almost feels like he should get out a notebook and start taking notes. Just in case he needs any of what Steve’s about to say for Suzie.

Steve shrugs. “She asked if I wanted to date and I said yeah.” 

The room is quiet for a minute, and then Dustin yells, “is that _it?”_ the same time Max goes, “where’s the _romance?”_ and Lucas says, “bro, _she_ asked _you_ out?”

“How long ago was this?” Dustin asks.

“I don’t know, a few days ago? Two days ago.” Steve tells him.

“And _she_ asked _you_ out,” Lucas repeats, like he can’t get it through his head.

Max whacks his arm and says, “girls can ask the guys out, you know.”

Lucas opens his mouth like he’s going to argue back but Steve talks right over them. “Yes, she asked me out. We were having breakfast, because she’d slept over, and she asked, and I said yes.” He glances at all of them and suddenly he looks like a full-grown adult, indulgent and wise and like he’s got a joke that none of them are in on. “I know it might be hard for you guys to believe but not everything has to be a dramatic, death-defying gesture, you know. Sometimes simple is good.”

“I guess,” Mike says, clearly trying to placate him. He squints at Steve suspiciously. “Do you love her?”

Steve smiles but not on purpose. He smiles like he can’t help it. Like thinking about Robin makes him so happy he can’t control his face. He shifts Ronny in his lap, picking him up and planting a kiss on his forehead. Ronny tucks his head against Steve’s neck again. Steve’s eyes are so soft and warm it’s easy to imagine he’s ten years older and holding his own kid. Easy to imagine him living in a house like this, cooking and cleaning and singing loudly along to the radio, dancing with a baby on his hip. The image comes so easily, it's like it's already happening, like Dustin's already seen it. He hopes Steve gets to be a dad someday. He knows he'd be good at it. He'd be really good at it, better than Dustin's dad and Will's dad and Mike's dad. Better than any of them. 

“I love her a ton,” Steve says. “Robin’s great.”

“That’s not very enthusiastic,” Mike says. 

“What do you want me to say?” Steve laughs, his eyebrows raised all the way up his forehead. “I mean, I’d kill and die for Robin. She lights up my whole life. But we’re not dramatic like you and El, bud. We just don’t work that way.”

Mike rolls his eyes and grumbles something but Dustin can’t make it out so he doubts Steve can either. 

Steve snorts. “Whatever, Romeo.” Ronny gives a little gurgle and Steve kisses his tiny forehead.

“What did you _do_ with my brother?” Will says. 

“Ignore him,” Dustin says. “He’s pissy because he’s got to leave in five days.” 

It hurts to talk about Will leaving, and it _mega_ hurts to say it all casual like that, but Dustin doesn’t want Steve to think Will’s mad at him. Something shifts in Steve’s face anyway, though. His face looks… really sad. Dustin tries to think of a more poetic term for the look, because it’s all drooping eyes and pouting and flushed cheeks, but all he can manage is sad. He looks a little like Ronny. 

Dustin decides to cut his losses. “Anyway, Steve, since none of us know anything about babies we were hoping you could stay here and watch Ronny, because the rest of us need to go to Mike’s. We’re having a Party meeting.”

Steve stares at him. “Dustin, this is your fucking house! You can’t leave me alone with a baby in _your_ fucking house! Does your mom even know I’m here?”

There’s a long pause. 

As one, Mike, El, and Will dive toward the front door, Lucas and Max grabbing hands and running after them. Dustin scrambles forward, too, and soon they’re all out the front door. 

“Don’t worry!” He calls back to Steve. “My mom loves you! She’ll be back… sometime!”

He slams the door before he can hear Steve’s response. 

Max sighs happily. “Steve is so cool,” she says, grabbing her skateboard from where it’s propped up next to Lucas’s bike. 

“Steve is _not_ cool,” Mike and Will chorus, then glance at each other in surprise. They raise their eyebrows at each other, flicking their hands back and forth, having a silent conversation. Dustin has no idea what it’s about, but he doesn’t really care.

“Yes he is,” Dustin defends, because he knows being cool is important to Steve, and also because it’s true. He grabs his bike, too, and waits while El gets situated standing on the spokes of Mike’s. Will settles his helmet on his head and rolls his eyes.

“Let’s get going,” Will says. “I’ve got to call my mom in ten minutes.”

“And El’s gotta call Hopper,” Mike scowls.

“Hey, I bet your mom’s with him,” Dustin says. “You guys can just call together.”

And Dustin didn’t mean it like that but Will and El screw their faces up in identical disgusted expressions. The rest of them laugh so hard they have to climb off their bikes and sit on the ground, even Mike.

As soon as the shitheads leave, Steve settles Ronny firmly against his hip, fixes his hair, and dives for the phone.

“Robin!” He hisses, panicked, as soon as she picks up. “We’ve got a code red, like, a major code red, code fucking mauve!”

“What?” Robin says. “Is it the Upside-Down?”

“What?” Steve says. “No, it’s worse!”

“How is it _worse?”_ She shouts.

“Just get over to Dustin’s!” Steve says, and then hangs up before she can ask anything else.

He spends the ten minutes it takes for Robin to bike to Dustin’s alternately pacing and cooing at Ronny. Ronny’s a sweet baby, happier now that he’s been fed and had his diaper changed. He’s tiny, so tiny Steve’s hands span the width of his back, and blonder than anything Steve’s ever seen. When he tucks his little face into Steve’s neck, he can feel his little eyelashes flutter, can feel the tiny puffs of breath as he sleeps. Steve holds him firm, makes sure Ronny knows he’s there. Makes sure Ronny knows someone is holding him.

Long minutes pass like that, just Steve holding Ronny, pressing his face against Ronny’s soft little head, breathing in the quiet baby smell of him. 

When the front door opens, Steve’s eyes are wet.

“Steve?” Robin says. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, and then he really starts crying.

“Shit,” Robin says. She rushes over to him and grabs him in her strong arms, tucking her face into his other shoulder. When she squeezes him, her arms feel like bands, like a safety-belt around his waist.

Steve wants to hug her back but he can’t bring himself to let go of Ronny, not even a little, so he just puts his face in her hair and breathes in deep. She smells so familiar, Robin does, smells like her shampoo and detergent and a little like weed. It’s comforting. She’s so comforting, she’s so familiar, and he loves her so much.

He can’t stop crying. 

“Come on,” Robin says, swaying a little. “Come on, Steve, it’s alright. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Steve laughs into her hair, choked, and tells her, “I don’t know why I’m crying. Like, nothing is wrong.”

“You called with a code red,” she says. “Something’s at least a little wrong.” 

“I don’t know if I can tell you,” Steve says, without thinking. 

“I’d never judge you for anything,” Robin says. 

“No, I know,” Steve tells her. He swallows hard. “I just don’t know if I can say it. Out loud.”

Robin goes quiet. Her arms squeeze tighter around his waist and Steve kisses her hair.

“Alright,” she says. “Alright. Well, how ‘bout we sit down and you tell me why you’ve got a baby instead.”

So Steve lets her drag him over to the couch, lets her fold blankets over him and Ronny, lets her pet Ronny’s hair. She sits down next to him, so close they’re pressed together hip to shoulder. He watches her coo at Ronny even though she gets nervous around babies. Steve explains that Dustin called him while he was at the Byers house, told him he had an emergency, forced Steve to come over then foisted a baby off on him. He makes the story funny, makes it longer than it needs to be, makes it more dramatic. By the time he’s done, he feels more like himself. Feels less fragile. 

Ronny whimpers a little bit and squirms against Steve’s chest. Steve turns Ronny so he’s on his back, one of his hands gently covering Ronny’s neck and shoulders, the other supporting his back and legs. Ronny is so, so tiny. Anything could hurt him. Fuck, Steve read somewhere that babies going too long without being _held_ could hurt them, never mind their defenselessness and inability to eat solid foods. 

Steve would never hurt him, though. Steve wouldn’t let anything hurt him.

“It’s crazy that we were that small, once,” Robin says, her voice very quiet. 

Steve wonders if she’s thinking about her parents like he’s thinking about his. Probably. They’ve got similar problems, him and Robin: they love people too much. They don’t know when to stop. Maybe they can’t stop, not even when it hurts. 

Maybe their parents taught them that.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Crazy.” 

“Can I hold him?” She asks.

If it were anyone else Steve would say no. Steve would say no to Joyce Byers, and Chief Hopper, and Nancy, and Jonathan. Would say _hell_ no to any of the kids. Ronny is too helpless, too vulnerable, Ronny needs _so much._ Ronny needs to never be hurt, Steve _needs_ Ronny to never be hurt. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, why he’s feeling _so much,_ but he is. Steve wouldn’t let anyone take Ronny from him right now, maybe not even Ronny’s own mom, even though he knows that’s irrational. He knows if Ronny’s mom _actually_ showed up right now he’d probably hand Ronny over without any sort of fight. But he'd be reluctant about it, he wouldn't want to at all, because he knows, he _knows_ _,_ that sometimes moms don't love their kids right.

Ronny’s tiny eyelashes flutter and Steve’s holding him so careful and Steve wouldn’t let anyone else hold Ronny for anything because what if they hurt him? What if they hurt him?

But it’s Robin asking.

Steve takes a long, deep breath, and holds it. “Sure.”

Robin takes Ronny from him carefully. She’s so, so careful. Steve’s heart beats hard in his chest. His eyes feel wet again. 

“Steve,” Robin says. That’s all she says.

He breathes out. “Yeah,” he says. 

She waits. Steve focuses on breathing. He watches Ronny, safe and calm and half-asleep in her arms.

“So I went over to the old Byers place,” Steve tells her, even though she already knew that.

“Mm,” she says. “To hang out with Jonathan and Nancy.”

“Yeah. And it was… good. I was nervous about it, at the beginning, and we hit a couple rough patches at first but it was… it was really, really good.”

Robin nods. She glances at him and then away, like she knows he can’t look at her and say what he needs to say. She strokes gentle fingers over Ronny’s tiny head instead, her eyes focused and calm. 

“It was insane how good it was, Robs. I almost can’t describe it. It felt a little like… it felt a little like how _we_ feel, you know? Just… right.”

She looks at him and smiles, white teeth shining like pearls. Her eyes are shining. “I’m glad, Steve,” she says, her voice fierce. 

Steve takes a breath and then goes for it. “I think I’m still in love with Nancy.”

Robin nods, her eyes half sad sympathy and half _I can’t believe you didn’t already know that, dingus._ “Yeah,” she says. “No offense, Steve, but it’s kind of obvious. Well, to me, anyway. I think you’ve gotten pretty good at hiding it around everyone else.”

It’s a relief to hear her say it and Steve gives her a watery smile.

“I guess,” he says. He wants to laugh but he can’t find it anywhere in him. 

His heart is beating like he’s been running. It’s beating so, so fast. Steve doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to say this.

“You know Jonathan Byers?” He asks.

Robin snorts. “Yes, Steve,” she says, indulgent. She rocks Ronny, just a little. “I know Jonathan Byers.”

“You know I think he’s hot, right?” He says.

Robin stills. “I do,” she says, slowly. Cautiously. “I wasn’t sure _you_ knew you thought that.”

“I knew,” Steve says. “I hated him for it, for a while. And then I hated myself, and then I just… got over it, I guess. Like, oh, Jonathan’s hot, sure, but there’s demon-dog-things attacking so it can’t matter right now. And then… Nancy, and everything, and it was…” He trails off.

Robin leans her head on his shoulder.

Steve takes a breath and then sets his head on hers. “Anyway,” he continues. Well, he tries to. He can’t find the rest of his words.

“So this isn’t what we’re freaking out about?” Robin asks, still so, so careful. Still so careful with him.

“No,” Steve says. “Well, kind of.”

She waits.

“I think I’m in love with him,” Steve blurts. “Too, I mean. In love with him, too.” He licks his lips. “Him and Nancy.” 

There’s a beat. Ronny makes a sleepy, babyish noise, and Steve's heart feels too big in his chest.

“Oh,” Robin says.

Steve blinks hard and then forces his eyes open. Tries to dry them out, even though it’s not really working. “Oh?” Steve asks. “Just ‘oh’?”

Robin glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “What do you want me to say?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve says. He wants her to tell him she loves him, to tell him that this _sucks, dude, I’m sorry you’re in love with them and they’re dating each other,_ wants her to tell him she’ll keep sleeping over at his house and smoking his weed and making fun of his taste in movies. That she’ll keep letting him do her nails and braid her hair, that she’ll keep calling him at three in the morning when she can’t sleep to giggle about that girl in the gold bikini from Star Wars. 

Robin licks her lips.

Steve braces himself.

“You could do better,” she tells him. 

“What?” He says.

“I mean, Nancy I can at least sort of get. She’s hot, and smart, and badass with a gun. Fine, I can accept that you’re in love with her. But _Jonathan Byers?”_ She says. When she looks over at him, her eyes are sparkling, and she’s smiling again, almost laughing.

“Hold on, what are you trying to say—” Steve says, feeling his lips twitch.

“And you had the _gall_ to tease me about Tammy Thompson— Jonathan Byers isn’t even cute! He looks like a frog!”

“He does not!” Steve defends, even though he kind of does.

“He does! And his photos aren’t even that _good!_ They’re just pictures of trees! And he wants to go to _NYU_ for them? Fucking NYU?” She drags the letters out each time, really exaggerates the _enne_ and the _why_ and the _yew._

“He’s got dreams!” Steve sputters, unthinkingly echoing Robin from months and months ago. 

Robin stares at him, a brilliant smile on her face, and snorts, louder than hell, and Steve can’t help it: he throws his head back and laughs. Soon they’re howling, and Steve’s crying again but this time it’s good, this time he doesn’t care, because _fuck,_ he can’t believe this is happening. They laugh until their stomachs cramp, until Ronny wakes up and starts crying at the noise, and then they laugh more.

It lasts for a long time. Steve doesn’t know how long. He doesn’t care. He feels like he’s thrown off a weight, like he’s finally ran the last lap in practice, like now he finally gets to lay down and rest. Robin’s almost fuckin’ sobbing into his shoulder, she’s laughing so hard, and Steve’s not any better. They’ve got little Ronny pressed between them, protected and safe, the both of them holding him tight.

Slowly, their full belly-laughs die down to chuckles which fade to giggles, and soon they’re both just grinning like idiots at each other. Robin sets her head on his shoulder again, and this time Steve throws an arm around her. He tilts his head back and smiles at the ceiling.

“Thanks for telling me,” Robin says.

Steve shrugs. “Thanks for telling me first.”

Robin turns her head and kisses his shoulder over his shirt. Gently, carefully, she hands Ronny back to him. Steve lets his fingers stroke over Ronny’s soft baby cheeks, his soft baby hair, his soft baby pajamas. 

“Do you want kids?” Robin asks, idly wondering.

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah,” he tells her, feeling like he’s sharing another secret. “Yeah, shit, so much it’s all I think about sometimes.”

“Really?” Robin asks, turning her head to look up at him. Her cheek rubs his shirt soothingly.

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “Ever since I was a kid myself, basically. Me and Carol used to play house together in, like, second grade. We used to strap her dolls in strollers and take them on walks around the neighborhood. Our moms thought we’d get married, when we were older.”

A melancholy pang goes through him. He doesn’t miss Carol, not really. Or, rather, he doesn’t miss the woman she’s making herself into. Kid Carol, though, the Carol with the long hair and flouncy dresses… he misses that version of her, sometimes.

“I can’t imagine that,” Robin says.

“I can barely imagine it and I was there,” Steve laughs. “It’s crazy how much people can change.”

Robin nods. She’s quiet for a moment, just staring up at him, watching him run his fingers over Ronny’s chubby cheeks. “I’m glad you changed,” she says. 

“Me, too.” Steve tells her. He bends down and kisses her forehead.

After a while, he gets up and goes to the kitchen. He shuffles around with Ronny on his hip and Robin sits at the kitchen table and watches while he opens up the cabinets. She’s got her black hoodie on again, the one that’s way too big for her. She’s got the sleeves pulled up around her hands like she’s cold and Steve fights down the urge to go to the living room, grab the blankets, and swaddle her in them. Instead, he pulls out a box of pasta and the jar of sauce in Dustin’s fridge and sets about making them a late dinner.

“Hey, Robs, can you get Ronny’s bottle out of the bag? I’m gonna heat it up for him. It’s probably time for him to eat something again.”

“On it,” she says. “But you’re feeding him. I’ll boil the water.” 

So he feeds Ronny while Robin stands at the stove and pokes at the noodles. Ronny’s tiny pink lips close around the nipple of the bottle easily, his little throat working as he swallows. Steve’s in awe of him. He’s in awe of Ronny’s tiny little pajamas, and his tiny little finger nails, and his tiny little eyelashes. 

Before he knows it, Robin is setting a bowl in front of him and sitting on the chair to his right. The bowl is ceramic, and a weird green-blue color that matches Robin’s eyes. Steve grins at her and she smiles back.

“Tell me about your not-date,” he says. “I can’t believe I haven’t fuckin’ asked you about it yet. What did you—”

He cuts himself off because Robin is blushing red. Like, bright red. So red Steve could probably see it from outer-space.

“ _No,_ ” he gasps. 

Robin puts her face in her hands.

“Shut the _fuck_ up!” Steve hollers, socking her in the shoulder. “You did not! You did not! Shut the fuck up, you did not!”

Robin won’t look at him. Even her ears are red, now, and Steve shrieks like… like something that shrieks, he doesn’t know, he can’t fucking think because he’s too excited.

“Robin Elizabeth Buckley, you fucking _did not_ have sex with Monica Horowitz! Did you fuck Monica Horowitz? Oh my fucking God!”

“Not in front of the baby!” Robin yells at him, peeking out through her fingers.

“Fuck the baby, he doesn’t know what we’re saying! Did you fucking fuck Monica Horowitz!” Steve shouts, so excited he's bouncing in his seat. Ronny stares at them both with wide blue eyes. Steve lets out another wordless noise, all high pitched enthusiasm.

“Fine! Yes! I fucked Monica Horowitz!” Robin finally shouts at him. 

Steve tosses his head back and hollers, as loud as he possibly can, _“fuck yeah get some!”_

“Oh my _god,_ ” Robin says, and then slaps him over and over on the arm.

“Tell me _everything_ ,” Steve says. 

Robin doesn’t even hesitate, just shoves a bite of pasta into her mouth and then leans forward like she’s been dying to talk about it with him. “Okay, so I went over to practice that new piece, right? Because we’re both in the same section and—”

“Quit with the nerd talk, Buckley, gimme the goods!”

Robin huffs. “Alright, so when I got there she didn’t want to practice at all, she wanted to watch movies, and she’s got a TV in her room, so we were up there, and she started touching my hands, and she kept, like, laughing into my shoulder, and her lips were all, like, on my neck, and I didn’t care about the movie _at all_ so I just leaned over and kissed her.”

“Fuck yeah you did!” Steve says, holding up his hand for a high-five.

“Fuck yeah I did!” Robin cheers, slapping his hand. “So, like, then we were kissing, and I was nervous but she was just _going_ for it so I decided, fuck it, right? And I took my shirt off.”

“You did _not,_ ” Steve gasps.

Robin laughs, embarrassed and happy and a little boastful. “I did! I was sitting there, kissing her, and I was like _what would Steve do_ so I did the most impulsive thing I could think of and it worked!”

“Fuck yeah!” Steve whoops again.

“And then we had sex,” Robin finishes, bowing a little.

Steve shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth and shifts Ronny around a little. “Was it good?” 

Robin blushes again. “I mean, I didn’t know what I was doing, but she did, so it all worked out.”

Steve peers at her, watching her face closely and trying to make it look like he’s not. “And, like, you had a good time, right? You were comfortable with everything?” 

Because he knows this was her very first date ever, like _ever_ -ever, and he knows how easy it is to get carried away by someone saying they want you for the first time. He doesn’t want Robin to be doubting herself. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, it was good. It was… really good.”

And she’s got the dizzy, far-away look of someone who’s just had good sex for the first time in their life, so Steve just snorts and looks down at his pasta and gives her a minute.

After a while, he asks, “so, are you guys…”

“We’ve got another date on Friday,” Robin grins.

It’s Wednesday, so it _really_ must have been good sex. Steve grins, happy for her, and then feels his face fall. “Wait, shit, is us ‘dating’ going to fuck with that? We could stage, like, an embarrassing and public break-up,” he offers. 

It’d fuck with his reputation, sure, but it’s not like he’s got much of one left, anyway. No, he’s more worried about the kids, because they like Robin, and he knows they’d feel weird about ‘taking sides’ in their breakup, even if there wouldn’t be any sides to take. 

Robin winces, a little guiltily.

“You didn’t,” Steve gasps.

“She asked! She had her tongue down my throat! What was I supposed to do? _L_ _ie?"_ Robin says, defensive.

“Yes!” Steve says. “I cannot believe you _told her_ we weren’t really dating.”

“It just happened! I didn’t mean to!” Robin sputters. “And besides, she totally knew I was gay!” 

“That’s not the _point!”_ Steve says, even though he doesn’t know what the point is.

“I know,” Robin says, some of the fight leaking out of her. She looks at him with her soft blue eyes, her nose scrunched up. “I shouldn’t have told her without asking you. Like, we’re both in this. It wasn’t fair of me and I won’t do it again.”

“Oh.” Steve deflates. “Okay, then.” 

Robin nods, looking weirdly sorry, and Steve wants that look off her face so he says, “when can I meet her,” and watches as Robin turns redder than a tomato and whacks him again on the arm.

“Never,” she says. “Are you free on Saturday?”

“Always, for you,” Steve says.

Silence sweeps over them, but it’s comfortable. Everything is comfortable with Robin. Ronny coos in Steve’s lap. Steve swipes at the milk he’s dribbled down his chin and onto his bib, then rubs his fingers over Ronny’s chubby cheeks. They’re softer than peaches, softer than anything.

“Oh, hey!” Steve exclaims. “How do you feel about us double-dating?”

Robin narrows her eyes at him. “With who?” She asks. Steve can tell she knows the answer already, knows by the way her lips purse together. She’s only asking because she wants to hear him say it out loud, wants to see him acknowledge how fully fucking stupid this idea is.

But Steve’s no fuckin’ coward, so he forges on. “Nancy and Jonathan.”

“Mm.” Robin says. “The same Nancy and Jonathan you’re, like, in love with? Just checking,” she adds, when Steve glares at her. She raises her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Steve grumbles, giving in. “The Nancy and Jonathan I’m in love with.” 

It feels good to say it, somehow. Feels honest. Steve’s never thought of himself as a liar, not really, and he doesn’t want to start with _this,_ doesn’t want to start with this sweeping, adoring, fawningly protective emotion. Jonathan and Nancy are two of the best people in his life. Why would he want to lie about loving them? They deserve it. They deserve everything.

Robin sighs. “I just— I don’t want you to get hurt, Steve. I know it’s not their fault, not really, but… they’ve hurt you before.” 

Sometimes Steve forgets how little experience Robin has with relationships in general. Like, one minute she’ll be acting tough and wise, and the next she’ll be telling him she’s crying about some girl she’s never fucking talked to, or going on her first date ever and telling him she’s just had sex for the very first time. 

Steve juggles Ronny around in his arms and then reaches for Robin’s hand. She lets him hold it, plays with his fingers while he thinks about what he wants to say.

“Yeah,” he finally admits. “They have. And, like, it sucks. Robin, it sucks so much, but it’s not… I mean, it’s not _unbearable,_ you know? It hurts super bad but…”

He doesn’t know how to say that sometimes it hurts in a good way, looking at them together. How it feels bitter-sweet. At the end of the day, all other things being equal, Steve _loves them,_ and that means being happy for them. Supporting them. 

“But sometimes the hurting is worth it,” he finishes.

Robin rubs her fingers over the back of his hand, more gentle than anything Steve’s ever felt. “That’s what makes me worried,” Robin says. 

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that.

Robin reaches her free hand out and puts it on Ronny’s head then leaves it there. She doesn’t pat or stroke Ronny’s soft blond hair, just feels it with her fingers, like she thinks Ronny might break if she moves too fast. 

After a long time, she says, “fine. I’ll go on your stupid double-dates. But I want you to know that I think it’s a horrible idea.”

“You’re my favorite enabler,” Steve tells her, leaning over and kissing her forehead in thanks.

“Yeah, whatever,” she says, fond, then gets up and starts clearing the table.

It’s quiet in Dustin’s house, and warm in a way Steve’s house just isn’t, even though him and Robin have been trying to turn his empty place into a home. Dustin’s house feels… well, it feels like a house a ton of kids are regularly in, feels like a house where a mom and a cat and a little boy, who’s really not that little anymore, live. Steve wants a house like this, one day. 

Steve gets up to change Ronny’s diaper, then comes back and feeds Ronny the rest of the bottle. Robin shoos him away when he offers to dry the dishes, because he’d _just break something, Harrington,_ so Steve goes and paces the living room with Ronny in his arms, trying to put the kid to sleep. Robin turns the radio on, low and soft, and Whitney Houston comes crackling through the speakers, singing _you give good love to me. It’s never too much, baby, you give good love._

After a while, Robin tip-toes up to him and Ronny. Steve pulls her into a hug and they stand like that, swaying with Ronny between them, for a long time. Her hair smells like lavender, and Ronny’s hair smells like baby shampoo, and this is just as comfortable as laying with Jonathan and Nancy had been, hours ago. Just as comfortable but still, somehow, different. _You give me good love, good love, good love,_ Whitney sings.

He leans his head firmer against Robin’s and lets himself shut his eyes, Ronny held warm and firm and safe between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES jonathan and nancy are masochists, YES robin is a lesbian chad, YES will and mike know something is up, and YES the baby is a metaphor for steve's emotional well-being! 
> 
> anyway this chapter brought to you by the quote from midsommar that says "but do you feel HELD by him?" that i cannot stop thinking about.


	3. one is gonna turn into two is gonna turn into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Jonathan are a comedic duo! Murray gets dragged! Robin flirts with girls! And EVERYONE! COPES! WITH! TRAUMA!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a month since the last update. here, have 20k words

When Will gets back to the motel, Jonathan is flat on his back on their shared bed, staring at the ceiling while Mom pretends to read.

As soon as Will opens the door, Mom looks up and shuts her magazine. “How was Dustin’s, sweetheart?” She asks. “Was it good to see your friends again?”

“Everyone was good,” Will says. “We ended up at Mike’s, though.”

Jonathan sits up, really fast, and Will darts a glance at him. He doesn’t stare because he knows better: staring is the quickest way to get Jonathan to shut down and not say anything. He just waits. 

“I thought Steve went to Dustin’s,” Jonathan says. 

He says Steve’s name strange, stutters over it like he’s not sure he’s allowed to say it. His face goes all weird, too, too open then too closed off, quick like flipping a coin. Will really, really tries not to stare, but it’s hard, because Jonathan’s been acting weird _all week._

“He did,” Will says. He glances at Mom out of the corner of his eye and finds Mom watching Jonathan, too. “Dustin’s mom left us with his baby cousin but we didn’t know, like, anything about taking care of a baby so he came and helped.”

Jonathan makes a strangled noise and lays back down, throwing his arm over his face. He grumbles something that Will can’t really make out, something that sounds like _‘taking care of babies, now, Jesus fucking—’_ but Will can’t say for sure.

“Jonathan, sweetheart, is anything wrong?” Mom asks. Will goes to sit next to her by the table, pulling over a spare sheet of paper and a pen. He starts doodling loose circles and tries not to look at Jonathan. 

“No,” Jonathan says, his voice coming out muffled because he’s still got his arm thrown over his face.

“Are you fighting with Nancy?” Mom asks.

“No,” Jonathan says. He turns onto his stomach and pulls the pillow over his head. 

Will sighs. Jonathan is always so _dramatic._

“Because it looks like something is wrong,” Mom continues, excruciatingly gentle. “What with the moping and sulking.” Mom winks at Will, sly and quick, and Will fights down a smile. He starts adding little eyes inside the circles: he thinks he’ll make them into faces. A bunch of faces, all smiling.

Jonathan buries his face further into the pillow.

“It’s okay if you’re mad at Steve,” Will says, trying to be supportive. “I don’t get why he’s so great either.”

Jonathan freezes on the bed and then rolls over. He opens one eye to peer at Will, confused. “Why would I be mad at Steve?”

“You’re not mad at Steve?” Will says. He’s confused too now because, like, if he made Steve mad at him for _nothing_ he’s going to kill Jonathan. “I was, like, totally mean to him today because of you! I already feel bad enough about it, if you tell me it was all for nothing I'll never forgive you! He's taking us to the arcade again soon and if he doesn't give me his extra quarters like he always does, I'll never talk to you again!" Steve is so nice and cool and strong. He doesn't deserve for Will to be mean to him for _nothing._

“You did what?” Jonathan sputters.

“Yes, William, you did what?” Mom says, twisting her head to peer at Will.

“I wasn't, like, _mean-_ mean,” Will promises. “Just… I don’t know.” He doesn't know how to describe it. Nobody gets back-chatty with Steve, not any more. Not _genuinely._ They all like him; he's their friend.

“I’m not mad at Steve,” Jonathan promises, but then he sighs, really deep, and Will doesn’t know what the hell that _means._ God, he's going to _kill_ Jonathan.

“Okay,” Will says. “Then what’s the problem? Are you upset because Nancy’s been hanging out with him?”

Jonathan sits up and stares at him. He puts his hands in his lap and twists his shirtsleeves between his fingers over and over, glancing between Will and Mom. Will’s starting to think that something is, like, actually wrong, and it’s not just Jonathan being dramatic like he always is. 

“Because he’s got a girlfriend now,” Will says. “So you don’t need to be worried about that.”

Jonathan opens and then shuts his mouth. He glances at Mom and then away. Will knows his brother pretty much better than anyone in the world: he knows Jonathan’s dying to tell them something. They don’t really keep secrets from each other, not anymore. Maybe it’s lame, to be so close to his Mom and brother. Will doesn’t really care. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Mom says, so gentle it hurts to hear. She leans forward, her elbows resting on the tiny motel table, her brow furrowed.

Jonathan laughs, choked up and strange. “I don’t…” He trails off. 

“You can tell us,” Will says.

Jonathan’s lips quirk up, just a little. He takes a deep breath in, then blows it out slow, and looks at Will like he always has: like Will is something special. Will grins back at him.

“Thanks, bud,” Jonathan says. “But it’s just… dumb teenage stuff. You don’t need to be worried about it, alright? Don’t let it bother you. And _don’t_ do anything to Steve.” 

Will frowns at him. “I’m not a _kid_ anymore, Jonathan. I’m a teenager too! I’m thirteen!” 

He looks at Mom for help but Mom purses her lips together. She’s smiling, so she’s not too worried about Jonathan. Which is good, Will supposes, but it also means she won’t back him up. 

“Mom, come on,” Will says. He tries really, really hard not to whine, but it comes out a little whiny anyway. He just wants to know! Is that so bad?

Mom smiles and winks at him. “Well, if it’s just dumb teenage stuff, Jonathan, I don’t see why you need to keep it a secret. It can’t be too horrible.”

“Is Nancy pregnant?” Will asks, eager.

Both Jonathan and Mom choke on air. 

“No!” Jonathan sputters, the same instant Mom says, “she’d _better not_ be,” in a tone she usually reserves for monsters and evil Russian spies. Jonathan gives Will the same look he did when Will was seven and spilled juice all over his first batch of developed photos. It’s his _I’m-going-to-kill-you-you-tiny-life-ruiner_ look. Mike gets a version of it from Nancy basically every day but Will hasn’t gotten it in a while. In a weird way, it makes him feel good. Makes him feel normal.

It also kind of makes him want to hide all his boxers, just in case Jonathan pours itching powder in them or something. It’s better to be safe than sorry, with Jonathan: he can be so sneaky. 

“Nancy is not pregnant,” Jonathan tells Mom, very firmly.

Mom squints at him. “And there’s zero chance of that, is there?”

Jonathan starts a couple different sentences and then stops all of them, just opens and shuts his mouth. “Yes!” He finally says, after several tries.

“Because Murray told me about that pull-out joke, you know,” she says. “I’m hip. I know what a pull-out is.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jonathan says, leaping to his feet. He looks like he’s going to bolt for the door so Will turns the biggest, saddest, most cow-looking eyes he can on him. 

“Jonathan, all I want to do is help,” Will says.

Jonathan hesitates, his sweatshirt sloping half off his shoulder and only one shoe on his foot. “Fine,” he says. “But Mom can’t hear.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Mom stands up and grabs her jean-jacket from the back of her chair. She goes to the door without any protesting, just ruffles Will’s hair and stops to kiss Jonathan on the forehead. She walks out the door and, out of the corner of his eye, Will can see her stop in front of their motel window. _Tell me later,_ Mom mouths, shaking her fingers in the universal call-me gesture. Will waits until Jonathan flops back down on the bed before giving her a thumbs-up. Mom disappears into her car and drives away.

Will taps his feet impatiently. “Come on,” he says. “She’s gone. Tell me.”

“Alright, but you have to swear, like, on your grave, not to tell _anyone._ And that means anyone. Not Mike, or El, or Lucas, or Dustin, or Max, or— do you have any other friends?”

“Get to the point,” Will says.

“No,” Jonathan tells him. He crosses his arms. “Swear on your grave.”

“I’m not even _in there_ anymore!”

“You fucking— you were never in there! Jesus Christ, Will!”

Will rolls his eyes. “Fine, I swear on my grave. God.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes right back. He huffs, and then crosses his arms, then uncrosses them and then crosses them again. Will takes the biggest, deepest breath he can and waits him out. And waits.

And waits.

Will cries, “just spit it out, Jonathan!” At the same moment Jonathan says, “what if I am upset about Steve.”

“What?” Will says.

“You know. What if I am? What if me and Nancy both are?” Jonathan says, glancing at Will out of the corner of his eye.

None of this makes any _sense,_ it’s like Jonathan is trying to talk in some sort of code that Will just isn’t getting. Will licks his lips. “Then… you know, if you were, if you _both_ were, I’d ask you what you were upset about.” 

Jonathan nods his head, really fast. He stares directly at Will like he’s trying to find something in his face, like he’s trying to figure out how Will is going to react to whatever he’s about to tell him. 

“You know Robin Buckley?” Jonathan says, abruptly.

Will’s brain blanks out. Goes all static-y and fuzzy. He shuts his eyes and then opens them. Exasperation wells up, deep and fast, like a tub overflowing. “You’re upset about _Robin Buckley?”_ Will spits. 

“Why the hell did you say it like that!” Jonathan blurts.

“Why are you upset about Robin Buckley?” Will says, accusing. 

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Jonathan sputters.

And then it devolves into arguing, the both of them talking over each other, hissing back and forth the way they used to when they were way, way younger. Before Lonnie got so mean, before Mom started working all the time.

Will says: “Because Robin’s the coolest! What could she have possibly done to you? Didn’t you _just_ meet her?”

Jonathan says: “Why does everyone like Robin Buckley so much!”

So Will responds: “What do you mean _why_ she’s like leagues cooler than you! And she’s funny! I don’t think you’ve ever made a joke in your life!”

And Jonathan throws his hands up, shouting: “Oh, so you think she’s better than me too, now, huh?”

Then Will says: “What do you mean _too?_ I just think she’s really funny and nice! And she hangs out with us at the arcade sometimes because she’s way better at air-hockey than Lucas, and Steve _never_ beats Lucas because he’s trying to build up Lucas’s self-esteem or something—”

Jonathan scowls, fierce and dark, complaining: “God, she goes to the fucking arcade with you guys? And Steve? That just figures— how come I’m never fucking invited, huh? And when did _you_ go to the arcade, huh, you’ve been in Chicago with me! El, too!”

And Will defends: “Why the hell would you get invited? You were in Chicago too! And I meant, like, the _royal_ we, and that’s not the point—” 

They’re interrupted by a knock at their door. Neither of them move to get it, stunned at the interruption, but it doesn’t matter. The door swings open a moment later. Nancy marches inside, a scowl on her face, her cheeks tinted red with anger.

“This is ridiculous,” she says, like she’s already half way through the conversation. She doesn’t even look at Will. Doesn’t even notice him. “This is bullshit.” Her hair is curly, like she was out in the wet cold for a while, and her eyes are shining like she might cry.

Suddenly, arguing with Jonathan doesn’t seem as fun. “Nancy, are you okay?” Will asks.

She jerks, like she hadn’t seen him, and that’s when Will really knows something is wrong. Nancy always notices everything. 

Jonathan sighs, like he already knows what she’s upset about, and wait, wait, maybe Will shouldn’t have been arguing with him. Maybe Steve and Robin, like, actually did something. Will can’t ask, though. Nancy would gut him. 

Except Nancy just keeps ignoring him. She walks over to where Jonathan’s sitting on the bed, toes her shoes off, sheds her damp coat, and collapses on top of him, tucked up in his lap. She buries her face in his neck and breathes, deep and long. Will thinks it hitches a little, like she’s crying.

“Don’t start,” Jonathan tells her, his voice cracking. “If you start, I’m going to start.”

“I don’t know if I can help it,” Nancy says. She forces out a laugh but it breaks in the middle, and then it’s just snuffling noises.

“Do not start crying,” Jonathan says, except he’s a hypocrite, because his eyes are wet, too, and now Will feels like crying, because he always cries when Jonathan cries. He can’t help it. Jonathan sniffs and Will dives toward the bed, tucking himself into Jonathan’s side. 

“No, Will, buddy, don’t cry,” Jonathan says, through his tears. “We cannot all be crying, oh my God.”

Nancy gives a strained, snotty sounding giggle from where she’s buried in Jonathan’s neck. She takes several deep, slow breaths, and then pulls away. She scrubs at her face, make-up free, like she had planned for tears. When she looks at Jonathan, her smile is tender, even if it wavers in the corners. 

“Come on, Jonathan,” she says. She brings her hands up to wipe at Jonathan’s cheeks. Jonathan smiles at her but his eyes keep dripping; he’s got eyes like a leaky faucet, he always has. Jonathan buries his face in her neck, this time, and his arm comes up around Will.

Will’s hands start to shake. “Is something wrong? Do we need to get Hopper?” Because Hopper’s back, now, as impossible as it is. Hopper would be able to fix… something, at least. And if Hopper came, Mom would come back, too, and Mom always knows what to do when Jonathan is crying. 

“Can we tell him?” Jonathan asks, his voice muffled in Nancy’s shoulder. She’s wearing a big, gray sweatshirt. It’s got the words _Hawkins Basketball_ on the front and it’s way too big on her, like it’s not hers. Will can’t think of whose it would be, though. It’s certainly not Jonathan’s or Mike’s. 

Nancy hums like she’s thinking. Will stays quiet. Nancy’s going to decide whatever she’s going to decide: he won’t be able to talk her into anything. She’s always been like that, as far as Will can remember. 

“We’re a little sad about Steve,” she says, stroking her hands over Jonathan’s hair. Jonathan digs his face further into her sweatshirt, like he’s trying to bury himself in it. He breathes in deep.

“Why?” Will asks, because, like, he’d just seen Steve a few hours ago. Steve was fine, _is_ fine.

“We miss him,” she tells him, simply. She gives him a little smile and a shrug. Her fingers scratch over Jonathan’s scalp. “You need a shower, Jonathan, you're all greasy,” she says, momentarily distracted, then continues. “We just… we feel like we’ve lost a lot of time with him. Time that we… can’t get back.”

“Oh,” Will says, a little stunned. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. “Well, I mean, that’s not so bad! Steve’s really easy to be friends with, I’m sure he’d be happy to hang out.”

Nancy shuts her eyes. Her smile falls right off her face, like it was never there at all. Jonathan still hasn’t come up out of her shoulder. He’s almost got the hood of the sweatshirt over his face, now. 

“Yeah,” Nancy says. “That’s what he told us.” Her voice is off, though. Too distant and sad and cold. 

Jonathan finally lifts his head up. He leans his forehead against Nancy’s and then kisses the corner of her eye. “It’s just different, now, bud. That’s all.”

“How’s it different?” Will says. He feels like his head is spinning. “I mean, Steve’s been here the whole time. You didn’t wanna be friends with him before.” 

Jonathan sputters. “We did!” He protests, but then all his words get stuck. Will gets ready to wait him out again, except then Nancy speaks.

“We did,” Nancy repeats. “We just… well, we always got distracted. With each other, with our jobs. With the monsters. We always just… we figured we’d have more time. Stupid of us. Nothing stays the same forever.”

“Is Steve _dying?”_ Will says, because he’s starting to get really alarmed. 

“No!” Jonathan says. “No, he’s fine.”

“Okay…” Will trails off. “I’m not getting it.”

“You all get to hang out with him all the time!” Nancy finally spits out, like she can’t keep it in anymore. “All you kids, and Robin, now, too. And I don’t! _We_ don’t, I mean. It’s like he doesn’t want us around.”

“Well, maybe he thinks _you_ don’t want him around,” Will suggests, because it seems like the simplest answer.

Jonathan frowns at him and shifts Nancy in his lap. “What do you mean?” 

“What do you _mean,_ what do I mean? I mean you guys are a couple. You’re dating. You’re, like, super in love. You got jobs together, you’re going to college together soon. Nancy’s his ex. How many reasons do you want?” Will says, the words tumbling out of him.

He tries really, really hard not to think about Mike, or El, or the way they glom onto each other. It makes it hard to be around them, makes him feel like a useless third wheel, even though El is his sister now and Mike is his best friend in the whole world. He can see why Steve wouldn’t want to subject himself to that, and _Will_ never dated Mike or El. “You guys act like you don’t need anyone else. Just each other.” Will finishes, feeling hollow.

“Buddy, you know Mike still wants you around,” Jonathan says, because he’s always been able to read Will’s mind.

“That’s not what we’re talking about right now,” Will scowls.

“He wants you around,” Nancy says, looking at him. “Trust me.”

“Whatever,” Will dismisses, his voice shaking a little. He pushes past it. “That’s not my point. My point is that you guys, like, don’t need him. And, no offense, Jonathan, but since when are you and _Steve Harrington_ friends?”

Because Nancy, at least, he can kind of get. She dated him for, like, almost a year, forever ago. She obviously got along with him. They were friends, back then. Will can understand missing a friend. And besides, Steve is smart and handsome and nice, and always listens to Will when he talks about DnD, even when Mike and Lucas don’t. Always sits with him and Dustin when the couples are off sharing ice-cream or kissing or whatever it is they do.

“What do you mean, since when are Steve and I friends?” Jonathan sputters. “I called him from Chicago all the time.”

“I thought you were calling Nancy!” Will exclaims. 

Jonathan shrugs. “At first. And then me and Nancy had a fight, and I wanted to know what was going on back home, except she wouldn’t answer me. So… I called Steve.”

Nancy and Jonathan share a weird look, then: part embarrassed, part annoyed, part… fond? Adoring? Will’s not sure. He _is_ sure it’s weird, though.

“And Steve answered,” Will finishes, because of course Steve answered.

“Yeah. And so then I started calling every other week, and then every week, and… and we’re friends now.” Jonathan says, his voice going soft and a little uncertain. Like friends isn’t quite the right word for it. He plays with the strings on Nancy’s sweatshirt just to do something with his hands. Nancy kisses his neck, just a quick peck. Comforting. Jonathan kisses her forehead in response. 

God, _couples._ This is why Will hangs out with Steve. Except, wait—

“Shit,” Will pouts.

“What?” Jonathan and Nancy say together.

“I just realized Steve and Robin are going to be all gross now. Well, grosser than they usually are.” 

“What do you mean?” Nancy says, her eyes going sharp like a hawk’s. “Are they usually gross?”

Jonathan sets his jaw and stares at Will like his answer is really, really important. 

Will thinks for a minute. “Yeah, kind of,” he decides. “They’re always hanging off each other. Not, like, kissing or anything, just always together. Hands in each others’ back pockets, finishing each others’ sentences, that kind of stuff. One time they switched outfits for a whole day.”

“They what?” Jonathan and Nancy say, in chorus _again._ Will rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, she wore his cool jacket and jeans and sunglasses. He got stuck in her blouse and necklaces and stuff.”

“Huh,” Jonathan says, looking like he got whacked upside the head with Steve’s nail-bat. He bites his lip. “Did anyone take any pictures?”

Nancy snorts, the sound abrupt, loud in the silence. “You and your _pictures,”_ she says, and then winces like Will wasn’t supposed to hear that. Will doesn’t get it: Jonathan is always taking pictures, it’s not like it’s new information. Except Jonathan flushes, super red, and so maybe it _was_ a secret, except Will can’t figure out what the secret was supposed to be. He opens his mouth to ask.

Jonathan talks, words coming out so fast they’re all jumbled together, like he’s trying to cut Will off. “Anyway, that’s not the point.”

“Super not the point,” Nancy adds, glaring at Will, telling him with her eyes to not ask whatever he was going to ask, on pain of death. 

“Then what _is_ the point?” Will asks, frustrated.

"The point is..." Jonathan trails off, thinking. "The point is Steve is... Steve said... but he's always so reckless..."

“Is she in love with him?” Nancy asks, cutting Jonathan off. “I mean, he’s ready to… ready to marry her. It sounds like it, at least.” She bites her lip like she’s trying to stop it from shaking. “I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

Will thinks that’s pretty rich, coming from her, but he doesn’t say that because it’s, like, super mean. He likes Nancy. She’s good for Jonathan. She’s absolutely going to be his sister-in-law some day. Besides, she doesn’t deserve that. It’s not her fault how it all played out: Nancy is smart and kind and gentle, even if she is a little one-track minded. Sometimes there’s just… no good solution. Sometimes _someone’s_ heart has to break. Sometimes there’s no way out of it. It’s not like she _wanted_ to break Steve’s heart. It’s not like she intended it.

And it’s not her fault that Will is maybe, possibly, just a little bit, over-identifying with Steve. A little. 

So instead of snapping at her, Will takes a deep breath and thinks. He thinks about the way Robin gleefully bee-lines to Steve’s side every time she sees him, thinks about how she’ll whisper to him and they’ll giggle like idiots, like best friends. Thinks about how they lean on each other, thinks about the way Robin watches Steve’s back, constantly, like she’s afraid she’ll look away and he’ll disappear forever.

Nancy and Jonathan go completely still, all tangled up together and frozen that way, both of them staring at Will. Waiting for his answer.

“Yeah,” Will finally decides. “I think she loves him back.”

Jonathan nods but Nancy says _damn,_ and then she says it again a little louder. She taps her fingers against Jonathan’s arm like she’s trying to distract herself while Jonathan sets his forehead back on her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Will says, even though he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. He rubs Jonathan’s back.

They all sit like that for a while, crammed onto one shitty motel bed even though there’s a second one four feet away. Will wishes he could make them feel better, but he can’t, because they’re clearly _going through something, baby,_ as Mom would say.

When the door rattles, his heart leaps. Thank God. Mom can take it from here. When it swings open, though, it’s not Mom. Or, rather, it’s not _just_ Mom. A veritable crowd of people come marching in: first El, then Mom, then Hopper, then Murray. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jonathan hisses, prickly, whipping his head up from where it’s buried in Nancy’s sweatshirt to glare at the door. “Sure, yeah, everyone just come on in. God.”

El takes one look at them piled on the bed and climbs in on Jonathan’s other side. She reaches for Nancy’s hand and Nancy lets her take it.

“What’s wrong?” El says urgently. She’s looking around like she thinks something’s going to pop up, some monster, so Will sighs and reaches his arm around Jonathan to put on her shoulder. 

She stares at him, grateful, when Will tells her, “nothing is wrong. They’re just _going through something_.” And El’s heard Mom use that explanation, too, so she relaxes. She rests her head on Jonathan’s shoulder. 

Hopper is standing, slightly uncomfortable, with Mom near the table. He’s got his hands on his hips and he’s glancing between Mom and Jonathan like he thinks she’s going to yell at Jonathan for being on a bed with Nancy, never mind that they’re all in the same room and know nothing is happening. Besides, Mom knows they’ve had sex before. _Everyone_ knows.

Nancy twists so she’s facing away from Jonathan, her back to his front. “Why is Murray here?” She says, a little catty. Will grins. He _loves_ when Nancy gets mean. She’s so good at it: way better than Jonathan is. 

“Is that any way to speak to your Uncle?” Murray asks, his nose in the air.

“Who the _fuck—”_ Jonathan starts. 

“You’re our neighbor _at best—”_ Will says.

“I don’t like you—” El glares.

Hopper throws his head back and laughs. 

“Joyce is the sister of my heart,” Murray says. “My twinned soul.”

Mom sighs, extremely loudly, but her eyes are twinkling. The sparkle fades, a little, when she turns to look at Jonathan, like she’s wondering why he’s still so sad, like she’s wondering what he’s told Will. _Not much,_ Will wants to inform her. But then Hopper takes her hand and her eyes light up, brighter than Will’s seen them in a long time.

Hopper pulls a chair in front of the table, sitting on it heavily, like he’s exhausted. “Come on now, kids,” he says, his eyes dark and calm and steady. “Tell us what’s wrong.” He’s looking at Jonathan and Nancy, mostly, but he glances at Will and El, like, _if this is the Upside Down again you had better tell me, so help me God._

“Nothing,” Nancy says, glaring at him. Hopper just sighs.

“Nancy Wheeler,” Murray says. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Who _said_ you could _talk,_ ” Jonathan snaps. Will tries not to smile: Murray’s been coming over for Sunday dinner every day for months now, and still, _still,_ he gets on Will’s last nerve. But Mom likes him, so Will tries to be civil.

Jonathan doesn’t try. He never has. 

“Jonathan,” Mom scolds. “We all just want to help.”

Everyone sits in uncomfortable silence for a while. Will glances between the adults, on one side of the room, and Jonathan and Nancy and El who are still by him on the bed. It’s an old-fashioned cowboy stand-off, outlaws against the sheriffs. Kids versus adults.

“I know that look, Wheeler,” Murray finally says. “Boy troubles again?”

Nancy makes a wordless, outraged sound, her eyes flashing. Jonathan’s arms flex around her waist, like he’s trying to hold her back, but his jaw clenches like he’s ready to get up and start swinging.

“Oh, Murray, not this,” Mom sighs, trying to head him off.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Nancy snaps.

Murray flicks his eyes down at her sweatshirt, eyes trailing over the bold blue letters, processing the words _Hawkins High Basketball_ slowly. “Just a guess,” he finally says, smarmy. 

Nancy’s nose twitches. Jonathan breathes out hard through his mouth, his fingers twisting around the pocket of Nancy’s sweatshirt.

“Oh,” Murray says, his eyebrows flying up. “Now that _is_ interesting.” He licks his lips, glancing between Mom, who’s starting to look murderous, and Nancy and Jonathan, who already do. “ _We_ like Steve, indeed." 

Will doesn’t know what the _fuck_ he’s talking about. But, then, he almost never does.

“That is _enough,”_ Mom snaps, her voice like iron. “Out. Now.”

Surprisingly enough, Murray goes, tossing a vaguely apologetic look Mom’s way and then a smug one toward Nancy and Jonathan. 

“He just wants everyone miserable, just like him,” Nancy spits. “Wants everyone to be old and lonely, just like he is. Jumping at shadows. Only living for his next story.” It’s vicious, unexpectedly so. Murray had only said about ten words, after all. 

“You’re not going to be like him,” Jonathan says into her hair. His voice is so quiet, so private, Will feels bad for hearing, even though it’s impossible not to. “You’ve got me.”

Nancy breathes out, slow, and tips her head up. Jonathan buries his face in her neck.

“Ahem,” Hopper clears his throat. Will is thankful for it. 

As one, he and El hop off the bed and go over to the table. El sits right in Hopper’s lap, still clingy, still grateful he’s back. Will goes to Mom and lets her put her arm around him.

Mom sighs. “Alright. Pajamas on. Nancy, dear, are you staying over?”

“If I could, Ms. Byers,” Nancy says.

Mom snorts. “You can borrow some of Jonathan’s clothes. El, sweetie, are you sleeping in here with us or with Hopper?”

“We’re not staying together?” El says, blinking. 

Everyone pauses. 

“Well,” Hopper says.

“We hadn’t planned…” Mom trails off.

“Me and El can sleep on the floor,” Will volunteers. El nods rapidly. 

“I don’t know if…” Mom says.

“You and Hopper can just share the bed,” Jonathan says. “No need to split up. It’ll be nice to have everyone together again.”

He’s lying through his teeth, because Will knows Jonathan wants to be alone with Nancy, but it’s a nice lie. It’s a lie for Mom. 

“Alright,” Mom says. 

Everyone changes and brushes their teeth. Blankets and pillows are set onto the floor for Will and El, and El whispers to him about making breakfast for her Dad and Mom in the morning. It’s a good idea, so Will says he’ll help, and besides, it’ll be nice to spend time with El. They’re almost siblings, now, and Will doesn’t want anything to mess that up. Will won’t _let_ anything mess that up, not even his own jealousy. 

“Lights off,” Hopper says, flopping down beside Mom on the bed. They’re under separate blankets but Will thinks that maybe, maybe they’re holding hands. 

Jonathan and Nancy are tucked around each other like puppies, Nancy’s hands in Jonathan’s hair, Jonathan’s hands fisted in her sweatshirt.

Will rolls his eyes. “Gross,” he whispers to El.

“Yeah,” she says, copying him. “Gross.”

The next day comes too fast, comes running at Steve in a dead sprint. Comes at Steve with all the voracious, eager hunger of a demodog, and it’s all he can do to drag himself into consciousness. It's too goddamn early. Everything fucking hurts. He feels hung-over from all of last night’s emotions.

Dustin’s mom had come back late, around three in the morning. He and Robin hadn’t slept, just sat around in the living room, talking quietly and listening for Ronny’s periodic hungry cries. 

“Dustin called me around ten,” she had said, as soon as she was through the door. She looked tired and pale, and Steve dug up a smile for her. “Thank you both for staying here so late. Are you safe to get home? I can put you up in Dustin’s room.” She shrugged her coat off and tossed it on the couch, patting Robin’s hand as she went.

“Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Henderson,” Robin had told her, climbing to her feet. “I’d better get going.”

Steve took his cue from her and followed her out the door. He helped her load her bike into his car, cramming it in the back, and he drove home in a haze. Robin marched straight up to his room and crawled into bed, still in her clothes, and Steve shrugged and did the same. 

God, his mouth feels dry as shit. He must've been sleeping hard. He wraps himself around Robin, his head pounding with his emotion-hangover. She’s drooling on his chest, her hair a rat’s nest, her eyelashes fanned against her cheeks. Steve rolls his head to look at the clock: 9:30. Way, way too early. He knows trying to fall back asleep will be no good, though, so he wraps his arms a little firmer around Robin and rocks her, gentle, back and forth.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Robs, wake up.” 

She buries her face further in his chest and he sighs. He lets her lay there for a while, a warm, comforting weight on his chest. He presses his cheek to her hair. In the morning light, it looks almost red, and he can see the freckles on the bridge of her nose. Everything feels close and warm, just as safe as it did last night, when he held Robin and a sleeping Ronny for hours and hours.

He likes to hold people, he’s discovering. Likes to keep them safe in the circle of his arms, likes to feel their ribs expand, their hearts beating against his through their shirts. Well, maybe that’s a weird way of saying it. Pretentious. Like he thinks he’s Jonathan. Maybe he just likes hugs.

“Robin, wake up, I’m doing that thing where I’m, like, writing an essay on myself in my head.”

“It’s called self-reflection,” Robin says, her words slurred against his shirt. “And you do it all the time. Because you’re in touch with yourself.”

 _“Ha,_ that’s what _you_ said,” Steve giggles. And then, when she doesn’t respond, he whines, “but I don’t want to do that right now. Wake up so we can get breakfast."

Slowly, one blue eye opens and stares up at him. “From where?”

“The diner.”

Robin sighs, long and deep. “Yeah, fine. Give me five.”

So they shake themselves awake and go to get ready. Robin steals his sweatshirt and pulls on her jeans from yesterday and brushes her teeth with his toothbrush. They stand side by side in the bathroom as Steve fixes his hair and Robin wipes under her eyes with a wash-cloth, trying to fix her makeup that smeared in the night.

“You look like a mess,” Steve tells her. 

“Shut up,” Robin says. “You look like an extra from a Bowie video.”

“Whatever,” Steve says. “Bowie is kind of hot.”

“Yeah, if you’re into _freaks,_ ” Robin says. “Which you are, actually, now that I think about it, because you like _Jonathan Byers.”_

“Shut up!” Steve says. “He’s, like, not that bad. He’s really nice! And we are _not_ going over this again!”

“I mean, I’m sure he’s great,” Robin says, doubtful. “It’s just that he hung around in the woods alone all the time in all black and was, like, super pretentious in English, and also I heard a rumor he got caught staring at Cindy through her window? And also I’m pretty sure he reads Vonnegut, like, for fun.”

Steve sputters for a few minutes before finally saying, “well, Tammy Thompson tasted the frog liver during dissection day.”

Robin screeches. “She did _not,_ oh my God!” And then she says: "And I don't even like her anymore!"

Steve loses it. He laughs so hard snot comes out of his nose. “I don't care that you don't like her anymore! She did! Swear to God, I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Jonathan Byers eats bugs!” She retaliates, through tears of laughter.

“Shut the fuck up, he was in third grade and that was because Tommy R dared him!” Steve wheezes. “He doesn’t anymore!”

 _“He doesn’t anymore,”_ Robin echoes, mocking him, before collapsing onto the counter, tears streaming down her face, completely wrecking her already-bad makeup. 

Steve says, through his own tears, “you look like a raccoon!” 

Robin grabs the tube of toothpaste and smears it down his cheek, and then over his hands when he tries to defend himself. Steve grabs her wet wash cloth and starts whacking her with it. He gets large makeup-patches on his own sweatshirt, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to hear Robin screaming with laughter like this, worth it to see her laughing in the harsh light of his bathroom. And, fuck, but it feels good to talk about Jonathan, feels good to talk about Jonathan like having a crush on Jonathan Byers is _normal,_ like it’s nothing, like it’s only weird because _Jonathan_ is weird (even though he isn’t that weird, Robin!) and not because Jonathan is a guy.

Maybe Robin knows that. Maybe that’s why she keeps it up all the way down to the car, and all the way to the diner. Talking shit about Jonathan and Nancy, and how Jonathan’s _never told a joke in his life_ and how Nancy Wheeler _looks like she irons her underwear, God, they must be the most boring couple in the world. What do they even do together? I mean, aside from hunt monsters. Eat plain oatmeal?_

He knows she doesn’t really think any of this. When he told her what went down that first go-round, when Will went missing and Barb died, Robin was in awe of Nancy, told him over and over how fucking badass Nancy was, how strong Jonathan must’ve been, for him to stick by his mother and brother like that. 

She’s saying these things for him, because she loves him, because she wants him happy. 

It’s nice, knowing she cares. 

“Jesus, Robin, we’re here, shut up about Nancy’s underwear,” Steve says.

Robin lets out a startled _wuh-buh-buh_ noise. “I’m _not_ talking about Nancy Wheeler’s underwear,” Robin spits.

Steve grins. “Well, you definitely shouldn’t be, now that you’ve got a girlfriend.”

Robin flushes bright red. “She’s not my girlfriend yet! And I wasn’t—”

“Robs, relax,” Steve says. “I know. I know.”

Robin punches his shoulder and then leans over the console to adjust his jacket. Steve lets her do it. He watches her hands, with her chipped black polish he still needs to re-do, watches as they smooth down his collar and pick lint off his shoulder.

“Is it weird that I’m still in love with her?” He asks. “Nancy, I mean. We talked a lot about me being in love with Jonathan, which I know is, like, the bigger surprise, but. I mean, we’ve been broken up for over a year now. I should be over her, right?”

Robin purses her lips, thinking. Her nails pick off a tiny pillow-feather from his cuff. “No, I don’t think it’s weird, Steve,” Robin says. “I mean, if you hadn’t seen or talked to her in a year then maybe. But you hang out with her brother and see her in town and hunt monsters with her, occasionally, so I think it's probably fine. And besides, plenty of people stay in love with their exes for way longer than they should.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Steve says, feeling bolstered. It’s a comforting thought, in a weird way. It’s comforting that this whole big mess can be boiled down to _poor Steve Harrington, still in love with his ex._ It’s comforting in a mundane, boring way. “Yeah,” Steve says again. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

Robin tugs on his coat and then climbs out of the car, pulling his stolen sweatshirt around herself a little tighter.

“Jesus, it’s cold out,” she says.

“Well, it is winter,” Steve says, but wraps her up in his arms anyway. She tucks her face into his shoulder and they stumble like that, all tangled, to the door. It’s like a three-legged race. They almost fall over four times.

Steve says, “Jesus, Robs, don’t put your nose in my neck, you’re freezing!” The same instant a man says, “let me get the door for you kids.”

He doesn’t recognize the voice, so he looks up: a balding, black-haired man is speaking to them. He’s got a dark beard, coke-bottle thick glasses, and a wry grin on his face. Steve recognizes him a little, thinks maybe he’s seen him around before. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it’s cold, and Robin refuses to let go of him.

“Thanks, man,” Steve says, grinning.

“No problem,” the man responds. He glances down at Robin with a wry smile. “Young love, I get it.” 

Robin snorts against his neck and Steve grins wider. “Yeah, young love,” he agrees, feeling like he could fly, like this fake-dating scheme Robin concocted is just one big inside joke. 

The man follows them inside and stands with them while they wait for Katie to get a booth ready.

Steve, feeling benevolent, and very at-peace with the world, asks, “what brings you back to town, man?”

The man’s eyes sharpen, almost a glare. It’s weirdly out of place in the safe, warm glow of the diner. At his side, Robin finally straightens up. She glares back, defensive. He throws his arm around her, partly to calm her down and partly because the last time he saw that look they were facing down Russians, and he wants to be able to restrain her if this guy is just some aggressive local yuppie. 

“No offense meant, dude,” he says. “I’ve just seen your face around before. Small towns, you know?” He throws out his best, most charming King Steve smile, the one that got him beer and copied homework and a date with Nancy Wheeler.

The guy sighs. “No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t sleep well last night and it’s been... A crazy few years. I’m here to see my family.” He smirks like he’s got some big secret, something life-changing and insane, that Steve can’t even begin to comprehend. 

Steve chokes down a laugh. “Nah, it’s all good. My name’s Steve.” He holds out his hand.

And the guy just… freezes. “What?” 

“Uh,” he says, glancing at Robin, who raises her head and shrugs her shoulders like _fuck if I know, dude_. “I’m Steve?”

 _“You’re_ Steve,” the man says again.

Steve throws his shoulders back a little and Robin comes fully out from under his arm. Shit, he can’t get in a fistfight in _Benny’s_ but it looks like it might happen anyway.

“And I’m Robin,” Robin says. “ _Who_ are you?”

“I’m— I’m—” The man flounders. “I’m… Joyce Byers’ brother. Uh, Murray. Byers.” And then he winces, like he knows he can do better than that, like he’s disappointed with himself. The whole thing’s got an air to it, like it’s a performance, like there’s layers and layers beneath the surface that this guy, Murray, apparently, isn’t saying.

Steve’s a little disappointed in him too, frankly. “Uh, no you’re not, dude. I know for a fact that Jonathan doesn’t have any uncles.”

The regretful, wincing expression vanishes in an instant, swallowed up by a shark grin. “So you _are_ that Steve.” He leans forward, like he wants to examine Steve, measure him up then grade him. "I've heard so much about you."

“Get the fuck out of our faces,” Robin says, getting all up in the guy’s business and, shit, they’re really going to throw down in the middle of _Benny’s_ , aren’t they. Steve squares up because fuck it, he's not about to let Robin fight all by herself, even if it does mean they'll probably both get banned from the diner for the rest of the year, and _Benny's_ makes the best pancakes.

And then they’re saved. 

“Murray!” Hopper calls, from across the diner. “What the hell are you doing?”

The guy, Murray, freezes and Steve hustles over to Hopper without a backwards glance, tugging Robin behind him. 

“Who the fuck is this guy?” He spits, as soon as Hopper looks at him. 

“He’s a freak,” Robin says, tossing a disgusted look Murray’s way.

“Murray,” Joyce Byers sighs, and for the first time Steve notices that, like, _everyone_ is squeezed around this table by the booths. Ms. Byers and Hopper and El are on one side, Nancy and Jonathan and Will on the other.

Hopper and Ms. Byers sigh, giving each other commiserating and fond looks, but Nancy and Jonathan make equally annoyed noises. They look at Steve and raise their eyebrows, like, _yeah, he’s horrible_ and Steve grins at them. He can’t help it. Beside him, Robin snorts and Steve elbows her as subtly as he can.

Robin retaliates by mercilessly, obnoxiously shoving him. He stumbles forward, toward Jonathan and Nancy and their welcoming, shy smiles. Both of their eyes are so dark. Nancy’s hair is in a wild pony-tail, the kind she throws her hair up into every morning because she’s too tired to keep her eyes open for long. Jonathan’s hair is messier than usual, flopping around his forehead but looking soft and clean. Steve’s heart leaps in his chest when he realizes, oh, Jonathan has blond hair. It’s a sweet honey-yellow color when it’s grease-free. The thought is a little gross. Steve can't get it out of his head: Jonathan in the shower, suds running through his fingers.

Steve wants to kiss Nancy. Steve wants to touch Jonathan’s hair.

Robin shoves him again and this time, _this time,_ he gets with the program. They all do.

In unison, Nancy scoots her chair away from Jonathan, Jonathan scoots closer to Will, and Steve swings a chair into the empty space they created. He collapses between them, easy as anything, and Robin elbows past Jonathan to sit across from them, next to El.

Hopper raises his eyebrows at them but doesn’t comment. El snuggles further into his side to make room for Robin.

“Sit down, Murray,” Ms. Byers says.

To his left, Jonathan snorts. Steve feels his mouth quirk in response and knows, without looking, that Nancy’s does the same. 

Murray slinks over like a cat, all elegant and wary. From across the table, Robin rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue between her teeth. _Asshole,_ the look says. Steve raises his eyebrows back at her. _I know._

Murray ends up sitting on the very edge of the corner, between Nancy and Ms. Byers. It’s such a tight fit everyone ends up standing to pull an extra table over, and even then there’s no elbow room. Nancy’s shoulder is digging into his side and Jonathan’s leg is pressed against his, thigh to ankle. Steve shrugs and tosses his arms over the backs of their chairs. It’s as good an excuse to do it as any.

It makes Ms. Byers look at him funny, like she’s trying to figure something out, but Steve smiles at her, wide and innocent, like _who, me?_ And she smiles back then looks away.

There’s a long silence where everyone’s glancing between Robin, him, and Murray, but Steve just lets it happen. Fuck, he’s the goddamn King of awkward family meals. This is nothing. This is _cake_.

“So,” Robin says. “What’s everyone getting?” 

Steve tosses his head back and laughs. Beside him, Nancy jumps a little, but when he looks down at her she’s gazing at him and smiling. Jonathan shifts and tosses an arm over the back of Steve’s chair, except Steve’s already got his arm around Jonathan’s, so Jonathan just ends up stacking their arms. It’s a weird feeling. It’s a good feeling.

Neither of them move. Nancy presses into Steve’s side, just a little. Like she’s relaxing.

“Pancakes,” Steve answers. “And a milkshake. And pie.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Robin muses. “Split with me?”

“Duh,” Steve answers. 

“I’m sorry,” Hopper says, and he does genuinely sound sorry. “Who are you?” He’s looking at Robin.

“Robin, apparently,” Murray says. “Steve’s girlfriend, I presume?” He says it like he’s trying to stir the pot, looking at Jonathan and Nancy like he’s trying to tell them something with his eyes.

This guy is so smarmy. Steve doesn’t know why Ms. Byers puts up with him, but it’s clear that she does, because nobody at the table is acting surprised Murray is there. Just resigned, or reluctantly amused. Maybe Murray’s the kind of person that grows on you.

“That’s Robin,” Steve says to Hopper, and then, because if Murray’s going to be like this Steve is going to lean the fuck in, he turns to Murray and smiles. Tells him, “we’re in love.” 

Robin throws her head back and cackles. “Yeah, we’re in love.”

Murray furrows his brow like he’s not sure what to do with that. Like maybe he expected them to sputter, or deny it, or get embarrassed. “Okay,” he says, really slow.

Nancy gives a stilted little laugh. It’s triumphant but it's also somehow a choked, completely fake _aha_ noise. It's such a fucking weird sound, and so fucking _Nancy,_ it makes Steve laugh hearing it. He moves his arm from the back of her chair to around her shoulders and tucks her into his side. The motion is automatic, a reflex. He wants to cheer her up, so he moves without thinking.

When he looks at her, she’s staring up at him, surprise making her eyes wide, but she doesn’t look mad, and Jonathan’s arm is still on his, so he keeps holding her. He turns his head to look at Jonathan and Jonathan’s watching them both with gentle, soft eyes, his lips turned up like he can’t help it. Steve taps his fingers against Jonathan's neck, just below his hair, a wordless gesture. He’s not sure what he’s trying to communicate but Jonathan must get the message, because this time he smiles with teeth. Under the table, Robin’s foot knocks against his, and she gives him the most subtle thumbs-up she can manage. 

Steve winks at her. 

“Okay,” Will says. “Like, what is going on?” 

“We’re chilling, Li’l Byers,” Steve tells him, the same moment Robin says, “we’re at peace with the world, my child friend.”

“...What?” Will responds.

Steve laughs and tosses his head back just to feel Jonathan’s arm against his neck again. He pulls Nancy a little closer, almost tipping her out of her chair. She laughs, too, like she just can’t help it.

It’s nice to hear. She doesn’t laugh nearly enough. 

“Nothing, bud, I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.” And then, because he can’t resist, never has known when to quit while he’s ahead, “not even your weird Uncle can bring me down.” 

“He’s not our Uncle,” Will and Jonathan say, in unison. 

Steve turns his head and quirks his eyebrow at Jonathan, smirks just to see Jonathan blush. He does, too: turns red all the way to his ears. But, even better than that, Jonathan smiles, his teeth shining, and then starts laughing, almost giggling. Nancy follows right behind him and Steve feels his heart leap in his chest.

Across the table, Robin gazes at him, her eyes soft and knowing. She looks… proud, for some reason. Proud of him. Steve’s breath hitches and he firmly tells himself he’s not going to cry. It’s just that nobody’s been proud of him in a while. Robin’s eyes start sympathy-watering but then she shakes her head and glares at him. Steve snorts.

“Can you guys talk in your minds?” El asks, staring between him and Robin.

“Are we ready to order?” Katie-the-waitress asks, popping up out of nowhere. 

“Yes,” Ms. Byers and Hopper chorus, sounding relieved. 

Katie goes around the table, smiling and jotting down orders. When she gets to Steve, she smiles wide, and Steve smiles back. He remembers Katie: she had been two years ahead of him in school, a senior when he was a sophomore, and she’d invited him to his first house party. She was Hawkins Prom Queen that year.

Here they are, almost four years later: both of them still in town and working their dead-end jobs, smiling at each other over bent diner forks the way they smiled at each other in the halls. Vague, acknowledging smiles, yeah, but there’s some camaraderie there, too. 

This is the part of living in Hawkins that Nancy and Jonathan don’t understand, the part they don’t want to understand. There’s a community here, a reassuring motion to the town that Steve knows by heart. Here in Hawkins he's got people, he's got little old ladies that have known him since he was five years old, and sixth grade teachers he still sees around, and old Mr. Ritter who runs the gas station and gives him free smokes every now and then. He’s had the same barber since he was thirteen: Nick, who has three kids now. Nobody gets out of Hawkins, not really. Not in the ways that matter. Steve never thought he'd be any different.

Besides, this tiny, sleepy town was his family when he didn’t really have one and Steve loves it for that. Even as he chafes at the size, and the expectations, and the stupid fucking small-town gossip, he loves it. 

“Hey, Katie,” Steve says, over the noise of the table. Will and El are arguing about something, with Hopper and Ms. Byers and Robin interjecting occasionally. “How’s it going?”

“Steve Harrington!” Katie smiles. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“Course I remember you,” Steve tells her. “Best house party I ever went to, and you were the prettiest Prom Queen, too. I had a crush on you in tenth grade, you know.”

It’s small talk. Charming, quiet. Just two washed-up kids in the prime of their life. He’s the last one to give his order, and when he’s done she smiles at him, gentle, and tosses her blond pony-tail over her shoulder. “You still like milkshakes?” She asks. “On the house.”

Steve smiles. “You don’t need to do that, Katie,” he says, even though he knows she’ll bring him one anyway, and he’ll tip her double for it, because they’re going to live in this town together until they die. No reason not to build up a little good-will. 

Katie grins as she leaves and, yeah, they understand each other as well as they ever have. 

Nancy sets her head on his shoulder. “You’ve always been good at that.”

“Good at what?” He asks.

“You know, that. Making friends with people. We couldn’t walk ten feet in school without somebody wanting to talk to you. It drove me crazy.” She says.

He remembers that, remembers the annoyed little furrow she’d get in her brow, her books hugged to her chest as she watched him crack jokes with random track kids. He used to think she got annoyed because she wanted him to be paying attention to her, and then he thought she was just frustrated about being late to class. In his better, less self-deprecating moments, he thinks it was a little of both.

“I remember that,” Jonathan says. There’s no inflection on it, good or bad. It’s just a statement.

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. Jonathan’s clean, bright honey-colored hair shines soft in the dim light of the diner. Nancy’s soft brown hair tickles his chin, her cheek pressing soft and warm against his shoulder. And it’s hard. It’s so, so hard, to have both of them under his arms, so hard to _know_ he loves them and not be able to say it. Steve feels like the emotion is choking him, like it’s crawling up his throat, a rock that he can’t swallow around. 

Robin swoops in and saves him.

“God, you were a nightmare in high school,” Robin says.

“I didn’t even talk to you!” Steve says, latching onto her words like a drowning man would a raft.

“Yeah, so I’m objective, and I can say, _objectively,_ that you were the worst.” She winks at Jonathan while she says it and then says, commiseratingly to Nancy, “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Beneath his arm, Nancy stiffens. “The same way you do, probably.”

Across from them, Hopper gives an awkward cough, and Ms. Byers makes a face, her lips pressed together and her eyebrows up. Robin’s eyes widen and Steve knows that expression: it’s on his own face every few hours. It’s the _shit-yeah-hold-on-me-and-Steve-are-dating_ expression. 

This time, Steve swoops in and saves Robin. “What do you mean, _she_ puts up with _me?_ You know the amount of nerd shit I sit through?” He says, grinning because he just can’t help it. Him and Robin have had this not-argument so many times it’s like pulling on old pajamas, warm and comfortable. 

“Whatever, Harrington, I’m the light in your fucking life,” Robin says. The words are mean but her tone isn’t. Her tone is warm and calm, absolutely certain that she’s right. And she is.

“You know it, babe,” Steve says. The words come out embarrassingly soft. Stuffed full with love. 

Robin sniffs. “Don’t make me cry at breakfast, dingus.”

“Why are you at breakfast? With us, I mean,” Jonathan blurts. “Not that we don’t want you here!” He adds, looking at Steve.

“We can move,” Steve says, because he gets it, if this is a family thing. “We were just gonna get Hopper to save us from your crazy Uncle. We can go sit up by the bar, if you guys want.”

“No!” Nancy, Will, and El chorus. 

“Don’t leave us alone with them,” Will says, gesturing at El when he says _us._

Steve grins. “Adults getting you down, huh, bud?” 

“They’re the worst,” El says.

“Shit, yeah— I meant shoot, Chief, I did— where are the other little gremlins?” Steve asks, because he kind of wants to give Dustin shit for siccing a baby on him, and he wants to check on Max, wants to know how she’s sleeping, wants to make sure she’s eating enough. It’s been hard for her, these past few months. He wants to see Lucas, too, just to make sure he’s not being too tough on Erica. And, wait, actually he wants to see Erica and make sure she’s being nice to Lucas. 

“They’ll be coming in a bit,” Ms. Byers tells him, her eyes twinkling. “They all wanted to come to breakfast but I told them they had to pay for their own meals, so they decided to meet us here after we’re done.”

El scowls. “I wanted Mike to sleep over last night, but they said no.”

“There wasn’t room,” Hopper sighs.

“Me and Will slept on the floor! There was room on the floor!” She scowls.

“Well, I didn’t _know_ you and Will would be sleeping on the floor, did I?” Hopper says.

Steve laughs. “What’d you guys do after you abandoned me with that baby last night?” 

Nancy chokes. “The baby?”

“Yes, Steven, the baby?” Murray says, like a shithead.

Steve laughs, because this is a good story. “Yeah, I showed up after Dustin called and he foisted a baby off on me then ran off, all the kids right behind him. Robin showed up to help me with him, thank God.”

Robin snorts. “Like I did anything. I held Ronny _twice._ ”

“You cooked us dinner,” Steve reassures her.

“And it was delicious,” Robin agrees. “We’d totally be kick-ass parents.”

“Hell yeah we would,” Steve says, grinning. He’s caught up in the fantasy now, of Robin and her future partner coming over to his house for dinner parties, their kids running in the yard. Robin and him swapping babies back and forth, fixing up sandwiches and play-sets and the creaky fence between their yards.

“Some day,” Robin sighs.

“Yeah,” Steve says, wistful. “Some day.”

Beside him, Jonathan stiffens, his arm over Steve’s tightening, his hand coming down on Steve’s shoulder. Jonathan clutches at him, his fingers strong. Steve’s heart kicks in his chest because God, God, he loves Jonathan. It’s like he realizes it all over again, like it comes over him in a wave and it’s all he can do to breathe through it.

And then Nancy presses her cheek against his shoulder and Steve’s heart almost gives out completely. Nancy’s arm wraps around his stomach like she’s holding him there, protective. Territorial? Steve doesn’t know what to call it. He knows it makes him feel… something. Held, maybe. Loved, even though that’s stupid. Nancy doesn’t love him like that, has never loved him like that. She told him so. 

It makes him feel good anyway.

“You kids are a little young to be parents,” Hopper says, but he’s chuckling, his eyes settling on Steve like he can imagine it. Like it’s an easy thing to imagine. 

“I’m starting to see why you were so upset last night,” Murray muses, gazing between Jonathan and Nancy.

“Wait, you guys were—” Steve starts, but he’s interrupted by Katie, her arms loaded up with trays of food.

By the time everyone gets their breakfast and Katie leaves again, the moment’s gone and Steve knows he’s not going to get an answer. Not there at the table, anyway. When Jonathan takes his arm off Steve’s and scoots his chair back over, grabbing his plate, Steve’s chest goes tight. When Nancy pulls away to grab her fork, something in Steve’s heart breaks all over again. 

Maybe he wouldn’t feel like that, if he knew it’d happen again. It’s just that everything is so uncertain— he doesn’t even know if the three of them are friends, doesn’t know if they’re bonded to each other in any meaningful way. Doesn’t know they won’t both leave him again, won’t both forget about him.

Robin brushes her foot against his under the table, a silent _I’m here._ An invisible _you’ve got me._ Steve smiles at her, only a little shaky. He traps her foot between both of his, tight. _You’ve got me, too._

It’s quiet at the table for a moment, and then El and Will start up a friendly argument, bantering back and forth, and Murray, Ms. Byers, and Hopper start up a three-way discussion about something unimportant— the new ticket habit the police teams have picked up, or something. Jonathan and Nancy start talking over his head, leaning on their elbows on the table, forks in their hands, grinning at each other. 

Steve lets it happen, keeps his mouth shut and splits everything in half with Robin, who picks directly off his plate from the other side of the table. He lets the conversation flow around him like he’s a rock in a river, just listening, soaking it in. It feels like family, here at the table. He and Robin reach for the same pancake at the same time and meet eyes. He knows she’s thinking the same thing: how nice it is to be surrounded by love like this. How it’s so, so wonderful that the Byerses and Hoppers get to have this, even if they don’t. Even if they can’t. 

For that brief, passing moment, it’s just him and Robin. Their tiny family of two together at breakfast, accepted and enfolded into this bigger unit, love floating around them.

And then Murray wrecks it.

Their plates are almost all clear and Steve’s half done with his milkshake when Murray opens his fat mouth. Nancy and Jonathan have gotten up to do… something Steve wasn’t informed of. It involves them standing outside in the winter cold, pressed close together near the diner window, talking quietly. Their noses are close together, and Nancy’s lip trembles, just once. Jonathan presses his hand to her face and then presses their foreheads together. Steve doesn’t know what they’re upset about, maybe what they were upset about last night. He wants to know so badly it’s a fire in his chest, smoke in his lungs, choking him out. He wants to be out there with them, wants to pull Nancy into his arms, wants to kiss Jonathan’s forehead, then his cupid-bow mouth.

But it’s fine. He’s cool. He’s super cool, and it’s fine that they’re out there, it’s fine that he can see them through the window talking about whatever it is they’re talking about and God, this sucks.

He’s not fine with it and apparently everyone knows that, because Robin’s giving him an empathetic look and Hopper is staring around the room, and Ms. Byers is gazing between Robin and him like she’s trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Will and El look vaguely embarrassed, like they can’t believe Jonathan and Nancy are making such a big deal about nothing. 

Everything is so awkward. God, this is so awkward, so Steve goes to do what he does best, he goes to break the tension. Except when he opens his mouth he freezes. He can’t do it, because he gets stuck looking at Murray. Murray is peering across the table at him, his eyes looking a little sad, like he knows something Steve doesn’t. It’s a measuring look, analytic, like he’s curious about something and isn’t able to let it go. Steve’s seen that look before: Nancy gets it sometimes, when she’s trying to solve a mystery. She got it a lot in chem class. He assumes she gets it when she hunts monsters, too.

“It must be hard,” Murray says, like he’s queuing up a shot in pool. “Them being together.”

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart starts pumping, quick and nervous beats. “What do you mean?”

“You having to watch them be in love. It must be especially hard, what with your childhood.” Murray says, like he can’t help himself.

“What the fuck do you know about my childhood?” Steve spits.

“Oh, please, don’t be boring. It’s not hard to guess. Big house, parents always gone away together and leaving you behind. The poor little rich boy routine.” Murray sits back and crosses his arms. He’s sizing Steve up again, staring at him.

The whole table’s gone dead quiet. Ms. Byers has her mouth hanging open, and a vein is popping in Hopper’s forehead. El looks ready to murder Murray and Will looks like he’d help.

Robin looks equal parts blisteringly, burningly enraged and calm. Eager to hear what Steve has to say. She quirks her eyebrows at him, like, _you got this?_ And Steve shrugs at her. _Yeah, I guess._

Steve could stand up, fists clenched, and start swinging. Fuck, he wants to. Steve has always been, and probably always will be, made of motion. He’s all action, all the time. It’s what he knows, what makes him feel good. He’s not much of a thinker, never has been. But… he knows how to do this, too. He’s good with feelings, always has been. Shit, feelings are nothing. Everyone’s got them. They’re easy. Steve’s played this particular chess game all his life; with his parents, with Tommy H and Carol, shit, even with Jonathan and Nancy, a little. And that’s all this is: Murray playing on their emotions, guessing at how they feel. Steve could play into it, could stand up and yell and dive for him.

Maybe on a different day he would. Maybe on a different day he would cry, or leave, or let Robin yell herself hoarse at Murray. But today Steve is tired, and he’s just had a whole slice of pie, and Robin is across the table from him looking at him with steady eyes. He feels… fine. Calm. His parents are old news, anyway. It’s not like it’s a fresh wound, or anything.

Steve turns to look at Murray, just staring, for a long time. And then he snorts. “Whatever, man, I can do that too.” Steve says.

Murray grins like a shark or something else with big teeth. Like he thinks he’s big shit, like he thinks he’s some sort of genius.

It’s super irritating. Steve wants to shove him into a locker.

Steve huffs and does the next best thing. “You’re hanging with people you’re not blood related to, and you’re calling them family even though most of them, like, can’t stand you, which either means you’re desperate and alone or obligated to them somehow.”

“Oh, obligated, big word—” Murray starts, but Steve doesn’t let him finish. Shit, but this is too funny. This guy can guess at what people are feeling and he thinks he’s the only one? Thinks it’s some sort of super power? Whatever. Steve could do this in eighth grade.

“It’s probably the first one. You know what I think? I think you’re a fanatic who got too shut-in, and then they went to you for help and you got too invested. I think you get off thinking you’re smarter and better than everyone, even though you don’t know how to talk to people normally. You’re just an old guy with a Sherlock complex who’s gonna die alone.” Steve slurps his milkshake. “See? You’re not special. It’s fucking called observing, dude. I learned how to do this when I was thirteen.”

There’s a long pause at the table. Ms. Byers is glaring at Murray and, yeah, Steve can kind of see them as siblings. She’s got the _I’m-going-to-kill-you-you-fucking-annoying-asshole_ look down pat. Hopper is grinning beneath his mustache and Will and El are looking at him like he’s hung the fucking moon. 

“How did you _do_ that?” Will asks, exhilarated.

“I’m good at feelings,” Steve tells him. “I’m, like, in touch with myself.”

Robin cackles. “That’s what _you_ said.”

Steve reaches across the table to high-five her.

She smacks his palm joyfully while Ms. Byers rounds on Murray and Hopper roars with laughter.

The bell above the diner door chimes, and when Steve glances over there’s a posse of kids standing in the doorway. Steve grins and holds up a hand while Robin rolls her eyes at him. Will and El dive out of their chairs and bolt to the door.

It’s a cacophony of voices, all the kids talking over each other, Mike hauling Will into a close hug and pressing his face into Will’s hair while Will clutches at his shoulders, then Will pulls away to be hugged by Lucas and Mike and El kiss hello. Dustin whacks Lucas on the shoulder, tossing an arm around Max, who accepts it for a moment before shoving Mike out of the way so she can get to El. Dustin shrugs and puts his arm around Will instead.

Steve smiles, something hard in his chest going soft as he watches them, and then he stands up from the table. Only Robin notices him leave: Ms. Byers is too busy whisper-yelling at Murray, and Hopper is watching his daughter and her friends like he can’t believe they’re real. 

Behind him, Robin quietly stands, too, and follows him to the register where Katie waits, watching the kids with an indulgent look on her face.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Katie says. “Are you here to pay?”

“If I can,” he says, all polite charm, then pulls out his wallet.

"Just the two meals?"

"I'll pay for the table," Steve tells her. She takes the cash from him without comment and smiles when he tells her to keep the change. Robin throws her arm around his waist, quiet, and he sets his arm around her shoulders automatically. She smells like oranges for some reason, even though she hasn’t showered in at least two days. 

When he turns around, the kids are all staring at him, cheesy, guilty grins on their faces.

“Alright, shitheads,” Steve says. “What’s the deal, huh?”

Dustin holds up one finger, a silent _wait_ gesture, and Max ducks outside and grabs something off the ground. Steve gets, like, really nervous but he tries not to show it. Robin winces just a little, her mouth pulled into the fakest, most strained smile he’s ever seen. Steve half expects Max to walk in with a tiny little demo-pup, a little demon larvae thing, but when she comes through the door she’s got a bouquet of daisies instead.

Max marches up to him, a determined scowl on her tiny freckled face, and stops right in front of them. 

None of the kids say anything. All of them look a mortified sort of determined. Lucas has a bright, plastered smile stuck to his face, like he's determined to brazen out any awkwardness. Mike is scowling and shuffling his feet, Dustin is blushing, and Will and El looks just as confused as Steve feels.

“These are for you, from Dustin’s mom,” Max tells him. And then, all in one breath, she says, “ _and-also-they’re-from-us-because-we’re-grateful-you-always-help-us-when-we-need-it._ ”

It takes Steve a second to figure out what she’s said and then another second to react. Robin’s covering her mouth with her hand, like she’s trying not to laugh, and Steve knows he’s getting shit about this later, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are watering.

“Aw, _Max,_ ” Steve says, and pulls her into a hug. "I love you, too, kid."

Max stiffens up and Steve loosens his grip because, shit, maybe he should’ve asked first, but then Max grabs onto his jacket and holds on really, really tight. She buries her face in his chest and Steve tightens his grip again, just wraps her up with his whole body. 

Shit, but she’s had a hard year. A hard _life._ He’s not surprised when he feels her shoulders start shaking. 

“Okay, kiddo,” Steve says, his voice almost a whisper. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“Max?” Lucas says, cautious. He takes a little step forward and Max reaches out a hand for him, her face still buried in Steve’s chest, so Steve pulls him into the hug too. Lucas burrows into Steve’s other side, one of his arms going around Max and the other around Steve’s waist. Lucas breathes in deep and, fuck, but Steve cannot have _two_ kids break down on him in the middle of this fucking diner.

Except that’s what is going to happen. Steve can feel it. He can _tell_ , because Lucas’s arm is getting progressively tighter around his waist, and Max’s shoulders are still shaking.

Robin takes a step back, making eye contact with him over the kids’ heads. _Should I get someone?_ Her eyes flick to the table, where Ms. Byers and Murray have gone quiet and Hopper is half-standing, ready to run to the kids. Steve shakes his head, just a little. _Don’t make it a big deal._

This just… happens sometimes. Every few weeks, like clock work, one of the kids gets overwhelmed by something— maybe grief, maybe leftover fear, maybe long-suppressed anger— then breaks down. Steve’s seen it a lot. It happens like dominos, sometimes, when the kids are together. One of them starts breaking down and the entire group just collapses. Last time it happened it was Dustin crying, and the time before that it was Mike, holed up in the bathroom of the arcade with Steve and the other kids, missing El and Will so much he couldn't cope with it anymore. Steve thinks he's probably seen it happen the most, what with him being an honorary Party member and all that. The best thing to do is take it as it happens, to let it happen, let the kids ride it out. Be whatever they need in the moment. It’s scary sometimes, though. It’s scary watching these tough, smart, brilliant kids shake apart and knowing he can’t make it better. It makes his heart hurt. 

“Okay,” Steve says again, as comforting as he can make it. “We’re okay.”

Robin backs up another step and starts a low, casual conversation with Katie, who responds easily, her voice gentle. 

A heavy weight slams into them, almost topples Steve over. When he looks down, it’s El, wrapped around Max and half-buried in her hair. Dustin comes next, his arms around Lucas and El, his chest pressed against Max, and Mike and Will follow close behind, burrowing in like tiny ground-hogs. Steve just sighs and tries to get his arms around them all.

"I've got you," he tells them all and, shit, he cannot cry, not right now. Not when they need him. "I've got you," he says again.

Through the window, Jonathan and Nancy watch with pale, knowing faces. Jonathan’s sympathy-crying, tears streaming down his face, his nose wrinkled up. Despite himself, Steve smiles a little. It’s just so _Jonathan._ Nancy looks stuck between the deep, overwhelming desire to come inside and hold Mike in her arms and the knowledge that Mike would never, ever let her do it. Not right now, at least. 

Nancy purses her lips together, her eyes shining, her face sad and strong all at once. She lifts her chin at him, a silent question. _You got this?_

Fuck, but Steve is so glad he can still read her, is so grateful he still communicate with her like this: through their eyebrows, their eyes. It’s a privilege, to understand Nancy Wheeler like this. She doesn’t let just anyone in. 

Steve quirks his lips at her, silently reassuring. _It’s alright, Nance,_ he tells her, as clear as he can. _It’s alright._

She blows out a breath. He knows because he sees her shoulders move, but also because he knows her. Knows how she reacts, how she calms herself down. As he watches, she grabs Jonathan’s hand and says something that makes him smile, then reaches up to wipe at Jonathan’s eyes. A little part of Steve wants to be out there comforting Jonathan, too, except he’s got his hands full. Literally.

After a while, Max stops shaking, and Lucas’s arms loosen up, and Mike’s stomach grumbles, and they all disentangle themselves. Joyce Byers is there the next second, Hopper right beside her and Murray hovering a couple feet behind them. Robin is still talking with Katie, her tone light but her eyes careful and soft when she looks at the kids.

“How about we all go back to our motel room?” Ms. Byers says, her hands soft when she brushes Max’s hair behind her ears. She rubs Lucas’s back, really gentle, as Hopper goes over to El and lets her lean on him. Surprisingly, Mike posts up on Hopper’s other side and rests his weight against him, too. Hopper’s eyes widen before they shut, sad and resigned and so, so kind. He rests a heavy hand on Mike’s shoulder. Dustin hovers by El, who takes his hand while staring at Max with sad eyes.

It’s like the kids got hit with one of those energy-draining spells from their dungeons game. Will goes over and throws an arm around Lucas’s shoulders. 

“Yeah, Mom, that sounds like a good idea,” Will says. “We can watch Footloose again.”

Hopper glances at Ms. Byers. “You’ve been letting them watch Footloose?” He says, his tone implying he disagrees with the decision on grounds of Footloose being incredibly inappropriate for thirteen year olds. 

Steve winces.

“Don’t look at me,” Ms. Byers says, smiling a little and glancing at Steve, then at Robin. “They rented it from those two.”

Robin takes that as a cue to reclaim her spot at Steve’s side. Steve slides his arm around her waist, grateful for her steady presence. “Guilty,” Robin says.

“Sorry, Hop,” Steve adds. 

Hop just snorts and rolls his eyes. “Come on, then,” he says. “Everyone in the cars. When we get to the motel we’ll call your parents and tell them where you are.” 

“Are you guys coming?” Dustin asks, turning to look at Steve and Robin. His eyes are big, and still a little fragile looking, and Steve wants to say yes so bad, but…

“We can’t,” Steve says, stepping up and resting his hand on the kid’s hat-covered head. “We told Jonathan and Nancy we’d go bowling with them today.”

Ms. Byers smiles, the expression lighting up her face like… like lights on a Christmas tree. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims.

The kids don’t look as happy about it, though.

“I’m taking you guys to the arcade tomorrow, though, right?” Steve tells them, as reassuring and calm as he can make it. “You shitheads can use up all my quarters again.” The kids relax at his words, their shoulders coming down from around their ears. Max still looks wet-faced and red, though, so Steve keeps talking for a while, acting as casual and calm as he can, mentioning how Jonathan told him Ms. Byers makes a mean hot chocolate, and, shit, didn’t Nancy say something about Mike writing a new campaign for them? Maybe they could play that at the motel. Ms. Byers gently asks a question about the new arc and Mike, reluctantly excited, starts answering.

Slowly but surely the kids unwind, and Hopper starts moving to the door, Mike and El under his arms, Dustin being tugged along by his hand. Ms. Byers, him, and Robin start herding Lucas, Max, and Will outside, too, and when they clear the door Jonathan and Nancy help. Murray goes back to the table and picks up coats, then follows them out, a silent shadow.

Robin sticks her hand in his back pocket, easy as anything, and Steve takes a deep breath. God, everything about this sucks: the monsters, the government conspiracies, the hundred and one mental fucking issues all of them have. Everything sucks almost all the time.

But he has Robin. And that’s worth something. Fuck, that’s worth everything.

The kids start asking Ms. Byers and Hopper about who’s riding with who, their voices starting out quiet and quickly ramping up to sassy, loud disagreement. Steve feels something loosen up in his chest.

“We’re all going to the same goddamn place,” Hopper finally says. “Everyone get in a car before I pick a car for you.”

The kids all glance at each other then scramble. El lets go of Dustin to grab Mike, who grabs Will, then drags them to Hopper’s truck. Dustin shrugs and walks over to Lucas, who throws one arm around Dustin and the other around Max and then walks over to Ms. Byers, nudging them until they smile. 

God, but they’re all such good kids. They’re such good kids. 

Steve meets Nancy’s eyes as she’s settling Mike into Hopper’s truck, tucking him between El and Will like he’s ten years old again. She fusses over Mike and Mike lets her for a while before finally shooing her away with a scowl. When Nancy turns, she gives Steve the softest, sweetest smile, the type of smile he hasn’t seen from her in a long time. And then she turns and taps on the window and Mike flips her off and then her smile is gone, replaced by a fiercely annoyed scowl.

Steve tosses his head back and laughs. Beside him, Robin snorts. 

Jonathan wanders over to them, glancing from Nancy to Robin to Steve then back at Nancy. He’s got his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He’s wiping periodically at his cheeks and, God, but Steve wants to kiss away the tears there. Wants to wrap Jonathan up in his arms. Wants to keep Jonathan’s tender heart safe. 

But he can’t do that. All he can do is smile at Jonathan, as comfortingly as he can manage, and touch his shoulder when Jonathan wanders over, and hope that's enough.

Jonathan stares at him, his eyes wide and dark and so, so beautiful. “Thanks. You know, for being there for the kids.”

Steve shrugs, trying and failing to act casual. “It’s no problem, man.” And it’s not. He loves those kids, would kill for those kids, would die for those kids. Has done the first and has almost done the second. 

Jonathan nods and breathes in, deep, like he’s wrangling his emotions back into place, and Steve can’t help it. He pulls Jonathan in for a hug, quick and hard, using all his muscle because maybe if he does it fast enough Jonathan won’t notice it happening. Jonathan definitely notices but all he does is bury his face in Steve’s shoulder. For the briefest, most precious moment, Steve gets to feel Jonathan’s soft, newly-washed hair against his cheek.

And then the moment is over. Jonathan pulls away when Nancy walks up to them, stands up straight and grabs her hand while Nancy smiles at him, just as soft as she’d smiled at Steve earlier. Steve winks at her, his knees feeling weak, and leans gratefully on Robin. The next minute, Ms. Byers drives off with one set of kids and Hopper follows with the other, Murray peeling off behind them in his own car.

They’re left in the half-empty diner parking lot, Jonathan and Nancy in front of him and Robin, staring at him like… like he’s done something incredible. Under his arm, Robin takes a deep breath and Steve echoes her. He takes a minute to settle himself down. Out of the corner of his eye, the _Benny’s_ sign flickers in the cold winter daylight, the same as it has since he was a kid. 

“Alright,” Steve finally says. “Who’s ready for some fuckin’ bowling?”

Nancy and Robin laugh, like they can’t help it, then glance at each other in surprise. Jonathan’s lips quirk up, a deep pit appearing in his cheek that Steve wants to stick his finger into.

“Yeah, fine,” Jonathan says. “Let’s go bowling.”

The loud crashing and bright colors of the bowling alley are a little jarring, but they’re good, too. Settling. Normal. Steve soaks it in, takes deep breaths through his nose, and knows Robin is doing the same. Nancy and Jonathan blink, like they’re having trouble adjusting, so Steve lets go of Robin and throws his arms over their shoulders. It’s a protective gesture, and Steve feels stupid for it until Nancy looks up at him with a small smile and Jonathan leans in against him.

Robin, beautiful, wonderful, smart, amazing Robin, takes it in stride, spinning around to face them as she walks, her eyebrows raised, a mocking grin on her face. 

“We’re going to fuckin’ destroy you,” Robin cheerfully tells him.

“We?” Steve asks. “Who the fuck is we?”

“Me and Nancy, dingus,” Robin says. “It’s guys against girls.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, his heart kicking in his chest. “Fuck off, Nancy can’t bowl for shit.”

Robin frowns. “What?”

Nancy whacks his chest, her slender hand coming down hard. “Shut the fuck up, Steve!”

“She’s insecure about it, because she’s got great aim with everything else,” Steve tells Jonathan, whose eyes are lit up, his face the very picture of a man who's found something fun to tease his girlfriend about. All mischievous excitement and love. It's a good look on him. It only makes Steve's chest ache a little.

“The balls are too heavy!” Nancy defends. “I’ve got noodle arms!”

“Whatever Nance, you’re, like, ripped,” Steve says. “You just can’t aim the ball right.”

“It _spins,_ ” Nancy whines.

Robin laughs. “Steve, babe, I changed my mind, I want Jonathan on my team.”

Against his sides, Jonathan and Nancy tense in unison. Steve doesn’t know what to do about that, doesn’t know how to fix it, so he just shakes them a little, like he can shake the awkward right out of them. “Robs, babe,” he returns. “Jonathan can’t bowl for shit either.”

“We don’t know that!” Jonathan interjects. “I’ve never bowled. Maybe I’m super good at it.”

“I’ll teach you how,” Steve tells him. “I’ve got a blank slate with you, we should be fine. By the time I got to Nancy she was already corrupted. Too set in her horrible, horrible ways.”

“You used to drag me out here _all the time_ ,” Nancy complains, fondly. 

“Well, it was the only thing you were bad at,” Steve says, grinning. His feet feel lighter than air, his chest feels like it’s on fire. “It was to keep you humble.”

Nancy grins, her tongue sticking out through her teeth. “You just liked seeing me lose.” She winks at him, and he clutches a hand to his chest.

“And I’m about to see it again,” Steve says, pulling Jonathan down so he can ruffle his hair. “With my _stellar_ new bowling partner.”

Flirting. He thinks maybe they’re flirting. It feels just like it used to, back when they were in the same English class, Nancy teasing him about falling on his ass at the basketball game the night before, Steve teasing her for coming to watch him. The both of them staring at each other from across the room, meeting each others’ eyes boldly, flirting silently during the lecture.

Jonathan pulls out from under his arm and Steve crashes back down to earth. “Don’t we have to get special shoes?” He asks, and Steve can only nod at him, a bizarre mixture of guilt and jealousy and disappointment swelling up in his chest. 

“What size are you?” Nancy asks Robin. “Me and Jonathan will go and get them.”

She doesn’t ask Steve. She already knows his shoe size. When they walk away, they take all Steve's air with them.

Steve has to breathe through the horrible, squeezing feeling around his heart. God, but sometimes watching them hurts. The feeling comes on so quickly he can't brace for it. Suddenly, all he can do is stare at them and see the long months stretch out in front of him, where Jonathan goes back to Chicago and it’s just him and Nancy, acquaintances who hunt monsters sometimes, both of them waiting by the phone, desperate for Jonathan to call. And then Nancy will finally graduate and go with Jonathan to NYU, and she’ll promise to call him, they both will. They’ll even mean it, for a while.

But Steve knows how those promises work out. He learned that lesson at eight years old, he learned that lesson again at nine, then ten. He learned that lesson again, and then again, then again, again, again. And, fuck, they’ll both be so happy, he won’t even blame them. They’ll be so happy in the city with each other, in love and in their own apartment and never, ever thinking about Steve, who will be alone and missing them back in Hawkins. Pathetic, like he’s always been. Waiting on a phone call that will never come, like he always has, his whole life.

“Robin,” he hisses, “I think I’m having a fucking asthma attack.”

He knows he’s not. But he doesn’t know how else to communicate this overwhelming, hopelessly suffocating feeling.

Robin spins him around so he’s facing away from the shoe rental stand, then puts both her hands on his face. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, you need to breathe. Can you breathe? Shit, of course you can’t breathe. You need to breathe.”

Steve takes a deep breath just so he can tell her to shut up. “You’re not— fucking— helping,” he manages, between gasps. 

“I’m trying my best!” She hisses at him.

“Well, stop it!” Steve tells her.

“I’ll stop when you pull it together!” She says, shaking his face between her hands. 

“I _am_ pulling it together!” He says. Her palms are warm against his cheeks, which feel, even to him, kind of cold and clammy. God, he's a fucking mess.

“I thought you said you could handle this?” She accuses.

“I can! I _am_ handling it!”

“This doesn’t look like handling it! This looks like you projecting your childhood trauma and also having a fucking panic attack!”

“I don’t know what the fuck projecting childhood trauma means!”

“Well _I do_ and I say you’re doing it! And that this was a bad fucking idea!”

Steve covers her hands with his and takes a deep breath. Robin echoes him. They breathe together, winding each other down. Robin leans up on her toes, just a little, to push their foreheads together. Steve leans down to make it easier for her. 

“Okay,” he says, for, like, the fifth time in under an hour. “We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” Robin repeats, nodding. 

“This is going to be fine.” Steve says, mostly reassuring himself.

Robin nods again, firmer. “You’re going to be fine.”

“We can do this,” Steve finishes.

“You can do this,” Robin agrees.

“Quit doing that,” Steve tells her, pulling away.

“It’s called positive affirmation,” Robin says, condescending, tucking her hand into his. “I’m positively affirming you.” 

“Well, I don’t need it,” Steve tells her. He tries to sound annoyed but can’t manage it. Steve loves her so much. 

“Of course you don’t,” Robin agrees.

Together, they spin around, coordinated like they were born attached at the hip and are determined to stay that way until they die. Shit, but it feels like it sometimes. Feels like he was born knowing Robin, like they were twins separated at birth, maybe. He knows they weren’t, but it’s kind of a nice thought. 

When he looks up, Jonathan and Nancy are staring at them, two yards away and with four pairs of bowling shoes between them. Jonathan’s shoulders are up against his ears, looking wounded, looking like he did forever ago, when Steve yelled at him in that alleyway. It makes the same sick, guilty feeling appear in Steve’s stomach, except this time he doesn’t know why.

Looking at Nancy is worse, somehow. With Jonathan, Steve could maybe, maybe write off the expression as Jonathan just… being Jonathan. Emotional. Steve can only guess at what Jonathan is so upset about. But with Nancy, he _knows._ He can tell. He knows that pucker in her eyebrow, knows that frown, that twisted up expression: Nancy’s jealous. Nancy’s jealous, and Steve wants so badly to swing her up and around like he used to, when she’d find him after basketball games talking to one of the cheerleaders and get that expression. Wants to pull her in and dance her around and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her. Wants everything to be just like it was. Except, wait, no, he doesn’t want that. He wants it to be _better._ He wants Jonathan to be there, too.

“Ah,” Robin says.

“Um,” Steve adds.

“We’ve got… the shoes,” Jonathan says, awkwardly.

“Right! Yes. We’ve got the shoes,” Nancy tells them. 

None of them move. Steve wants to take his arm off Robin’s shoulders, but that’s such a stupid instinct he almost laughs at himself. Instead he pulls Robin tighter into his side, and she sticks her hand in his back pocket, and he looks at Nancy and Jonathan and pulls up a smile. 

“Thanks, guys,” he says, forcing his legs to work. 

He and Robin fall into step, left-right, left-right, in unison as they walk over to Jonathan and Nancy. They take their bowling shoes and go to pull them on, untangling themselves and sitting down awkwardly on the carpeted steps, Jonathan across from them on the floor and Nancy perching herself on a chair. 

Robin grabs his hand, squeezes, then lets it go, leaping to her feet. “Alright!” She says, clapping her hands together. And he knows this look, knows this Robin: this is her we’re-having- _fun-_ now-Harrington voice. There’s nothing to do except give in to it.

So Steve stands up, too, and saunters over to Jonathan, because like fuck is he going to let Robin out-do him. “Come on, man,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s kick some ass!”

Robin boos at him, throwing in a couple hisses, and Steve flips her off. Quietly, almost despite herself, he hears Nancy laugh. Robin fuckin’ beams. Steve’s heart swells because, fuck, he wants them to be friends. Wants them to be friends for his own sake, sure, but also for Robin’s. Robin could use a couple more cool friends, and they don’t come any cooler than Nancy Wheeler.

“In your dreams, Harrington,” Nancy says. This time, when she smiles, her dimples come out.

Robin cheers and throws her arm over Nancy’s shoulders the same moment Jonathan reaches up and accepts Steve's hand.

So, it turns out Jonathan sucks at bowling. He’s almost worse than Nancy, and Steve hadn’t thought that was possible.

“How are you both so bad at this?” Robin asks, baffled, glancing down at the notepad where they’re keeping track of the score. She’s tapping the pen against her lip and staring between Jonathan and Nancy with raised eyebrows. 

Jonathan sputters and Nancy sniffs, offended. She does look like a priss, Steve acknowledges, feeling so fond he thinks he might explode.

“I think Nancy’s jinxed,” Steve tells Robin. “She got blood-cursed as a baby like in that one fairy tale.”

“Sleeping Beauty,” Jonathan nods. 

Nancy snorts and then covers her face, like she didn’t mean to. Robin grins at her, white teeth flashing. She throws an arm around Nancy’s shoulders when Nancy sits down next to her.

“You’ll get ‘em next time, babe,” Robin tells her. 

Steve wants to tell her to stop flirting with Nancy, because _he_ wants to be flirting with Nancy, but he chokes the words down. It’s kind of funny, seeing Nancy blush, and he knows Robin doesn’t really mean it, because she’s fuckin’ obsessed with Monica Horowitz, but it makes him jealous anyway. Not in, like, a way where he's mad at Robin, it just… it kind of stings, watching Robin do something he can’t. Or, at least, something he won’t let himself do.

Robin glances at his face and then half-winces, like she's comforting him and apologizing all at once. It's nice, but she doesn't need to feel bad about anything. He knows he's being irrational, so he just flaps his hand at her and shrugs. Robin shrugs at him in response, takes her arm down from around Nancy, and starts adding up their scores for the third fuckin' time, because she can never admit defeat and she needs to make _certain_ that Steve and Jonathan actually beat them by twenty points.

“Yeah, babe,” Jonathan grins. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

Nancy puffs herself up. “Just because Steve _dragged_ you with him to victory does not mean you have any sort of high ground. You got fifty points! Total!”

“Yeah, and you got fifty-four,” Steve points out, because he can’t resist. 

“A perfectly respectable number!” Nancy says, but her lips are twitching like she knows she’s lying out of her ass. 

“For an eight year old, sure,” Steve says. 

“Steve Harrington!” Nancy says, almost a whine, looking like she’s two seconds away from stomping her foot. 

Beside him, Jonathan starts giggling, so long and loud Steve thinks he might fall over. “Oh my God,” Jonathan says. “God, we should’ve gone bowling forever ago. I have never seen you like this, Nancy, holy shit.” He drops his head onto Steve’s shoulder and snorts with laughter, his whole body rocking with it.

"I bring the child out in everyone," Steve tells him, shifting a little so Jonathan's more comfortable.

“Jonathan Byers, stop laughing at me,” Nancy says, but she’s smiling, her eyes shining, and Steve knows she’s watching Jonathan, just like he is. It’s so fucking nice to see Jonathan laughing like this. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen it before.

He wants to see Jonathan laugh like this every day.

“Robin fuckin’ carried you that whole game, Nance,” Steve says, gleeful. Jonathan’s laughter is contagious: it’s surprisingly high-pitched, all boyish sounding snorts and giggles. The noise rolls through Steve’s chest like a wave, leaving fizzy little bubbles of joy in its wake. 

“We put up a good fight!” Robin protests.

 _“Thank you,”_ Nancy says. 

Steve’s about to retaliate, about to say that a combined point total of 144 isn’t much of a fight at all, even though his and Jonathan’s score had really only been 170, but the words get stuck in his throat because, right at that moment, Robin goes so red Steve thinks she might have a stroke. Glee swells up so quickly and completely that Steve damn near starts vibrating.

Yes, oh, hell yes. Shit, this is karma, this is his fuckin' karmic retribution.

“Where is she?” He asks, leaning forward so fast Jonathan near falls over. Steve catches him quick enough that he doesn't, but he leaves his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders just in case. 

“Steve I’m so thirsty actually I think we should get drinks do you guys want anything we’ll be right back,” Robin says, no pausing for breath, no punctuation.

She grabs his hand and yanks him off his chair, and this time Jonathan catches himself, looking surprised, and a handful of other things Steve doesn’t know how to process. Hurt, maybe? Pissed? Steve can’t analyze it.

“We’ll be right back!” He tosses over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot, because fuck, is he really going to meet the legendary Monica Horowitz?

Robin pulls him behind the bowling ball racks and then stops right by the bathrooms. Steve is about to tell her that this is a bad move because, like, nobody’s ever successfully flirted with a girl with public bathrooms five feet behind them. But then Robin looks at him and says, “I need a game plan," and Steve feels better about the whole thing.

They’re not _hiding,_ they’re on time out. They’re setting up a play. Shit, he can do that. He’s great at that. He jumps right into it, excited as anything.

“Okay, so she already knows that we’re not really an us, so that’s one thing down. Where is she?” He asks, thinking out loud.

“By the concessions,” Robin says, peering around Steve’s shoulder and then blushing again. 

Steve grins. “Okay, cool. So. First order of business: do you want to talk to her alone?”

“I don’t know,” Robin says. “Oh my God, I don’t know how to do this. Shit, dingus, I’m gonna be worse at this than you!”

“Okay, one: no you’re not. And, like, two: you’ve literally already had sex with her. So.”

“Keep your _fucking_ voice down!” Robin hisses, even though they both know there’s nobody near them and they’re both whispering, anyway.

“Yeah, sorry. Okay, okay. Shit. Okay. We’ll both go over, and we’ll _actually_ get everyone drinks, and then I’ll, like, bump into her, and we’ll start talking, and then I’ll leave you with her and bring the drinks back to Jon and Nance and you can join us again when you’re ready. Good?”

Robin takes a deep breath and Steve’s cheeks hurt, he’s grinning so hard. He feels like he’s sending Robin off to her first day of school, or some shit like that. God, he’s so excited. His heart is racing for her, he’s already sympathy sweating. 

“Yeah, fine, asshole. Let’s do this.” She links their arms together and starts walking over to the concessions, dragging her feet a little like she’s not sure she’s ready. 

Steve marches them both forward, feeling smug, and excited, and a little second-hand nervous. “Just remember,” Steve whispers, leaning down to talk into Robin’s hair. “You’ve literally eaten her out. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Robin hisses back. “I cannot think about that right now, shit, don’t distract me with— oh my god, hey!”

There’s a girl staring at them: she’s got wild, curly black hair, and pale skin, and a prominent nose. Her eyes light up with excitement as she watches them walk forward and Steve feels his smile get wider. This must be Monica and, yeah, now that Steve can put a face to a name he knows Monica. They had geometry together, like, four years ago. Monica waves at them, eager, and then looks mortified at herself and shoves her hand in her pocket, but Robin waves back, just as dorky. 

All of Steve’s anxiety fades away, all at once. Shit, but poor Monica must be just as gone on Robin as Robin is on her. 

“Oh, I think you’re gonna be fine, Robs,” Steve mumbles, but Robin’s not listening.

“Monica, hi! What’re you doing here?” Robin asks, eager, and then keeps talking. “Bowling, right, obviously. We are, too. Well, I mean, we just finished a game, but—”

Steve can’t watch this. “Oh, hey, Monica! God, it’s been forever. Tenth grade geometry, right?”

Robin takes a deep breath in, relieved. 

Monica grins and, shit, yeah, she is super pretty, Steve can see why Robin’s losing it. “Tenth grade for you, maybe.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, whatever, everyone in this town is a genius except me, I see how it is. You’re in band with Robin, huh?”

“Yeah,” Monica smiles, and her dark eyes twinkle behind her dark lashes and, yeah, now Steve’s heart is skipping beats. Robin squeezes his arm and when he glances down at her, her eyes are wide, like _see? Fucking see why I was freaking out?_

Steve figures the best thing is to just toss her in the deep end and see if she swims. Robin seems to respond best to that. It's another thing they've got in common. 

“Hey, I’m gonna get some drinks. You want anything, Monica?” Steve asks.

“Oh, no, thank you—” Monica says, surprised, but Robin’s already moving in, letting go of Steve’s arm to stand next to Monica, brushing their fingers together. She puts a hand on Monica’s wrist and Steve grins, turning toward the concessions and leaving them to it. 

He loiters at the window for as long as he can, watching the cokes sweat in their bottles for a while, glancing back at Robin and Monica every so often. Robin’s giving off a frenetic sort of energy, all wide smiles and flapping hands, but it’s charming and, honestly, Steve doesn’t think he does any better. He definitely didn’t with Nancy; shit, he was _worse_ , back in eleventh grade when he was trying to get Nancy to give him the time of day, and that turned out fine. Well, it didn’t, but not because of his flirting.

What he’s trying to say is that Robin’s doing fine.

When she glances at him over Monica’s head, she grins, so bright and big that Steve almost wants to cry. He loves seeing that look on her face: giddy, and nervous, and already half in love. He wants that for her, he wants her to have everything. But he can’t say that right now so all he does is give her two thumbs up and drops a coke bottle in the process. Robin laughs at him and then her eyes widen, like she’s just thought of something, and she puts her hand on Monica’s for a second before jogging over to him.

“Yeah, so, I’m gonna hang here with Monica, bowl a couple more games,” she says, more settled than she was ten minutes ago. 

Steve grins. “You want me to come get you later?”

“She’ll give me a ride,” Robin says, her smile huge, her blue eyes shiny, a red flush dusting her cheeks. Steve tries really, really hard not to laugh at her but he doesn’t quite manage it. Shit, but Robin’s got the giddy, eager expression of someone who is for sure getting laid later in the night.

 _“Yeah,_ she will,” Steve grins. 

Robin sputters at him and whacks his arm and Steve damn near howls with laughter. 

“Whatever, asshole,” Robin says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?” She throws her arms around him, hugging him tight, tight, tight, like she always does. Steve hugs her as best he can with three cokes in his hands. He compromises by kissing her hair then her forehead. She kisses his shirt, right over his heart, a childish smacking little peck, an innocent gesture that makes Steve’s chest feel too small, like he’s over-flowing with love. 

“I want details!” He hollers at her, after she lets him go and starts walking back to Monica.

She flips him off over her shoulder, her smile bright and mischievous. 

Yeah, she’ll be fine.

When Steve gets back to their bowling lane, Nancy and Jonathan are gone, disappeared somewhere. It takes him a solid two minutes to find them. They're hidden in the back corner of the bowling alley, behind the arcade games, halfway down a hallway. Nancy’s got her street shoes on and Jonathan’s sitting on the floor in his socks, his sneakers in front of him, staring off into space. They both straighten up when they see Steve, Jonathan peering around like he thinks Robin might be hiding, and Nancy frowning.

“Where’d Robin go?” Nancy asks.

“Did you guys have a fight?” Jonathan says, his brows furrowed.

Steve snorts. “No, dude, she just ran into a friend from school. One of her fellow band nerds, you know how it is. They do clarinet together.”

“Oh,” Nancy says, taken aback. “So she’s actually in band?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says. “Did you think I was lying?”

“No!” Nancy says. “I don’t know. It just didn’t seem like… well, you guys don’t have very much in common, do you?”

Steve tries not to sigh. It’d seemed like Nancy was getting along with Robin. They’d been thick as thieves during the bowling game, giggling behind their hands at him and Jonathan, booing and hissing when Steve got a strike. 

“I’m just trying to understand,” Nancy says, her eyes big and pleading, like she knows he's getting irritated.

Steve feels himself softening up because, yeah, he’s a little annoyed that Nancy can’t just accept that him and Robin are him-and-Robin, but this is just who Nancy is. She’s always been this way; desperate to understand everything, like if she can just answer every question she’s got she’ll be able to control her life, control the whole world. It’s who she is and Steve loves Nancy, all the messy parts of her, even this part. 

Even if it does drive him up the wall sometimes.

“I know, Nance,” Steve says. He sits down next to Jonathan on the dirty, carpeted floor. Nancy sits across from him and Jonathan puts his hand on her knee. They’re in a little triangle, all of them bent close together, and it feels a little like it did that first go-round, when El was missing and Will had just gotten back. 

Way, way at the beginning of everything, they’d eaten lunch together, sometimes. Not often, not every week, or even every other week. Maybe once a month. It had been quiet, back then. They had been quiet. Jonathan refused to talk and Steve didn’t want to talk about the monster, which was the only thing Nancy ever wanted to talk about. So Nancy and Jonathan had sat and shared fries and sandwiches while Steve ran his mouth, never saying much of anything. Nothing important, nothing he thought twice about, just stupid shit. Who he was playing that night, whether Hawkins had won their game the week before, who Erica Allberg was dating. God, but their quiet had been suffocating, the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever felt, and neither of them had seemed to care. Didn’t even seem to notice, like maybe they preferred the quiet.

They’re thinkers, the both of them. Steve loves that part of them, but he doesn’t understand it, has never understood it. He needs to move all the time, needs to fill every silence he sits in. 

Looking back, it’s no wonder Nancy left him and got with Jonathan.

“You know how Jonathan, like, _gets_ you?” Steve says, because this seems like as good a place to start as any.

“Steve—” Nancy starts, like she thinks he’s about to put himself down and she wants to head it off. Jonathan winces, his mouth pulled tight, and stares at Steve with his big dark eyes.

Steve waves his hand. “No, listen, listen I’m not going to do— whatever you think I’m going to do. Just… you met Jonathan and he _understood_ you, right? Without trying. Just knew all about how much you needed to find out what happened with... with Barb, because he felt that way too. Knew all about needing to go out and _do_ something. Like… you guys are similar in a lot of ways, Nance. Not on the outside, because you were, like, also super popular and pretty and our Jonny-boy was a creep, no offense, but… you know. Underneath everything you were similar.”

Jonathan and Nancy are staring at him, their eyes huge, stunned. Like they didn’t know he’d noticed all that. Shit, but how could he not? How could he not? He loves them. He wants to know every damn thing about them. It’s not the same as their never-ending curiosity, their desperation to snoop and find and _solve,_ but it’s not that different, either. 

“And I guess, like… me and Robin are like that. You know? We’re the same in all the ways that matter. I mean, sure she’s a band geek, and I was, like, a jock I guess, and she can speak nine languages and she’s basically a genius and I’m dumber than rocks, usually, but… did you know when she came over to my house, that very first time, she turned on all the lights and put on a record as loud as it could go? I didn’t ask, didn’t say anything, she just did it. And she looked at me, and she said, sorry, I just can’t stand when it’s quiet, and I thought… shit, I thought she must be my soulmate, you know?”

His chest aches, remembering that first night: how he’d driven her to his house after the mall burnt up, how she walked inside stiff and scared and bold as brass tacks, not feeling anything but empty but faking it almost as well as him. She’d swung his front door open and stomped inside, flipping every light switch as she went, marched right into his living room and over to the record player and turned the dial all the way up. They’d lain on the floor in the living room all night, staring up at the bright lights, just talking and talking and talking. Making themselves laugh, making noise, like two tiny dogs yowling up at a black bear, trying to scare it away.

Jonathan and Nancy didn’t understand that side of him, not when they were in school together, couldn’t guess because they didn’t feel that way, and he’d never let on. Maybe they do now. He can’t say for certain. 

But Robin knows. Robin knew right away: how scared he was, all the time, how badly he needed to keep moving, keep laughing and joking, because otherwise he’d just fall apart and drown, like a shark that stopped swimming. 

She knew because she was the same as him, is still the same as him. 

“We got kidnapped together, I told you that, right?” He says, after a while.

Jonathan and Nancy nod at him, their eyes steady. Jonathan leans forward and presses his shoe to Steve’s, their toes brushing. Nancy brushes her fingers against Steve’s knee. 

“We got kidnapped together, and we’d tried to escape but it didn’t work, and they were grilling us, you know? Asking us all sorts of shit, where we worked, who knew we were here. It was scary as hell.” Steve licks his lips, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And, you know what? We laughed our way through it. Shit, it was fucking funny, because she was there, and we _made_ it funny. I hadn’t laughed that hard in… in weeks, maybe. Isn’t that fucked up?”

“A little,” Jonathan says. 

“Everything’s funny with her, you know?” Steve says.

Nancy and Jonathan lock eyes, frowning. 

“Not really,” Nancy says, her voice soft. Her fingers are still on Steve’s knee.

“Yeah, I guess you and Jonathan aren’t really like that,” Steve acknowledges.

“What do you mean by that?” Jonathan frowns.

“Well, just… You know, you’re both so serious, just naturally. It’s probably more quiet movie nights and dark-room dates than, like, you know. Hysterical, high laughing fits at two in the morning.” Steve taps Jonathan’s shoe with his own, and sets his hand over Nancy’s, just for a second. “And that’s _fine,_ ” he stresses, because they’re looking a little shame-faced, like they think he’s judging them for that. “Honestly, sometimes I want that, too. But I couldn’t… you know, I’m just not like that all the time.”

There's quiet, for a while, and Steve fights to keep his mouth shut, because he knows Jonathan and Nancy need time to process things.

“I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t think you were mature enough, Steve,” Nancy says, after a beat.

“Then why did we break up?” Steve blurts out, desperate, because a little part of him knew that _that_ was where this conversation was going, and he wants to know. He needs to know, he needs it so much, and they shouldn’t be having this talk at the goddamn bowling alley, but it looks like they are. It’s been months, over a year since their breakup. It’s time he knows.

“Oh, _Steve,_ ” Nancy says, her lip wobbling. Jonathan shifts like he’s not sure who he should be looking at, Steve or Nancy. Steve makes it easy by not looking at him. Jonathan grabs Nancy’s hand and Steve tries not to feel hollow.

Nancy licks her lips, steeling herself, iron in her eyes. Steve loves that look. “I broke up with you because I just… I was hurting so much, all the time, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t feel anything other than that.” She shuts her eyes, then, and sighs. “No, that’s not true. Well, it is, but it’s not… We all know I got with Jonathan right after. So you know that’s not all the way true.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says.

Jonathan is looking at him with wide, guilty eyes, holding Nancy’s hand like he needs to. Steve can’t look at him. He wants Jonathan to hold his hand. He wants to be holding Nancy’s hand.

“Being with you was just so _hard,_ ” Nancy finally says. “It was just… we didn’t understand each other, which isn’t a bad thing. It hadn’t been a bad thing, before... all of it. But I just… I wasn’t in a place where I could spend time trying to understand where you were coming from, and I couldn’t talk about what was going on in my head.”

“I would have listened, Nance,” Steve says, his voice thick, because shit, he would’ve, he would’ve spent hours and hours on the phone with her, would’ve spent hours holding her while she talked, if that was what she needed.

“I know,” she says, biting her lip. “I know you would’ve. I just wasn’t sure you would have _understood,_ and that was worse, you know? Worse than not talking about it. It was easier to pretend we were fine, that _I_ was fine, and I wanted fucking _something_ to be easy. And... and then it was… it was easy to be with Jonathan. Because you’re right, he did get it. I didn’t have to talk with him, didn’t have to make him understand, and that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. But I wanted easy, and being with you was so _hard_.” 

She’s crying, tears dripping down her cheeks, and her mascara is smearing.

“Nance,” Steve says, his voice wrecked, and he can’t take it anymore. He stands up, and she lets out a wounded noise, and Jonathan glares at him, betrayed, but he can’t pay attention to that because he’s too busy hauling Nancy up off the ground and into his arms. 

She latches onto him, her head tucking under his chin, fitting in his arms like she never left them at all, like it was minutes, not months and months since they’d last hugged like this.

He sets his face in her hair and focuses on not sobbing. Focuses on not shaking, on being steady for her, because God, she deserves… she deserves everything. The whole damn world. And Steve can’t give her that, can’t give her a fuckin’ lot of things, but he can give her this moment. He can hold her.

“Let it out, Nance,” he says. “We’re alright. You’re alright.”

“I’m _sorry,”_ she says, like she’s been holding it in for a long, long time.

“I’m sorry, too,” Steve tells her. “God, I’m sorry, too.” And he still doesn’t know what he’s sorry for, not exactly, but he knows he feels it. He’s sorry for them breaking up, and he’s sorry she’s hurting, and he’s sorry he invited her and Barb to that stupid fucking house party that wasn’t even a party, and he’s sorry for everything Tommy H and Carol did, and he’s sorry about his own fucking broken heart.

“And I’m sorry… I couldn’t… say it,” she tells him through her tears, and Steve doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he knows he forgives her. “I didn’t mean it,” she adds, nonsensically. Her arms are so tight around his waist that they hurt, a little. A tiny, tiny part of him that got all twisted up as a kid hopes she leaves bruises. Like he thinks that way he’ll get to keep her with him, after this moment ends, and she lets go, and he goes another year without a hug like this.

That’s the thought that makes him fuckin’ lose it completely. He just starts fucking sobbing into her shoulder and all he can think is that he’s so, so grateful they’re hidden behind a corner and the arcade games and the tall racks of bowling balls. He's so grateful that this moment is private.

“Fuck this,” Jonathan says, and then suddenly Steve and Nancy are wrapped up in Jonathan’s arms, are being held tight against Jonathan’s chest.

Relief wells up in Steve’s chest, because, God, it’s good to be held. It’s so, so good to be held, because he’s only… he’s only got Robin, and he feels like he’s falling apart, sometimes. Like he’s trying to hold himself together, and a bunch of pre-teens, and Robin, and pay the fucking bills for the house because his parents are fucking gone, and wander around waiting for the next fucking monster attack, and he feels so fucking _alone_ when Robin is gone. He feels so alone all the time.

“Okay,” Jonathan says. “We’re okay. We’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Steve doesn’t know if Jonathan is talking to him or Nancy, but it’s comforting anyway. Steve turns him and Nancy so that they’re tucked further against Jonathan. He buries his nose into Jonathan’s neck and sniffles. 

Nancy takes a deep, shaky breath. “We’re okay,” she says, soft, a little steadier. Her hands stroke up Steve’s back. “Let it out, Steve, it’s okay.”

“We’ve got you,” Jonathan says again.

So Steve does. Steve lets himself just fucking… lose it, strips himself emotionally bare in a way that only Robin has seen, and she only saw it because she was braver than him and showed her hand first. Part of him cringes away from it, because it goes against… everything, every single thing he’s ever been taught, by his dad, by his asshole ex-friends. It’s newly horrible, exposing himself like this, rolling over and showing his metaphoric underbelly. He’s making himself so, so vulnerable.

But, God, if he wants anything with them, friendship or… or _whatever,_ he can’t just trust them during the apocalypse of the week. That’s not how this works. This is it, all or nothing. Either he trusts them or he doesn’t. So he cries as Nancy cries— and as Jonathan cries, too, because that’s just who Jonathan is— and tells himself that it’s allowed, that he loves them, that they won’t use this against him. Because, God damn it, he trusts them.

So he lets them hold him. And he holds them back.

They stay like that for so long it’s a miracle no one sees them. They stay like that so long Steve can’t tell whose arm belongs to who, can’t tell where his chest ends and Nancy’s starts, can’t tell if his and Jonathan’s heartbeats have synced up or if they’re just sharing a heart, somehow, like magic.

“We’re still at a _fucking_ bowling alley,” Nancy says, and Steve laughs, sudden and loud. He can’t help it.

“Let me take you guys home,” Jonathan blurts. “Let me… let me take you home.”

“You don’t have a house here anymore,” Steve says, into Jonathan’s neck. His voice is hoarse, raspier than normal. “And there are, like, a million thirteen year olds at your motel.”

“We can go to mine,” Nancy says, her voice firm but her face still buried in his chest. Jonathan’s arms are tight around them, strong and safe, and Steve feels… everything, all at once. Lonely and in love and strong and vulnerable, all at the same time. He can’t do anything but breathe through it, and hold them tighter, and listen to the crash of bowling pins collapsing.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall know that ‘self-recognition through the other’ photo? well that’s steve and robin


	4. yeah we know where it's headed to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has an ongoing crisis, makes a phone call, gets laid, confesses his feelings, and thinks about his dad. Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for this update taking forever, school started again and it's been A Time. but here it is hope you're ready for literally a ton of sex and feelings. have fun theydies and themtlemen drink water and be safe

When Steve was really, really little, he wanted to paint his room pink.

There was just something about it— the color felt warm, and bright, and reminded him of his mom, of her dresses and her lipstick. And he’d been a little boy. He didn’t know… well, he didn’t know a lot of things. Still doesn’t, he guesses. But back then, he didn’t know shit about shit. His dad had learned him up real quick, though: informed him that only queers and pussies liked the color, and no goddamn son of his was going to be either one of those things.

And, like, none of that is important now, because the fuckin' joke is on his dad, because he got a queer for a son anyway. Besides, his dad is a rat bastard and he knows it. His dad deserves every fucking karmic joke Steve can play on him. Robin's told him so enough times that Steve can recite her rant word for word, all about _fuck your dad, Steve, he doesn't deserve you_ that usually devolves into ranting about _patriarchal homophobic bullshit_ and _sexism_ and _fucking useless parenting,_ and about how Steve needs to _overcome the lessons he internalized as a child_ _._ Classic Robin shit.And he doesn’t know why he’s thinking about any of this, except…

Well, he’s always liked Nancy’s room. The pink walls, the soft floral bedding. It’s always felt safe.

“Do you guys want anything to drink?” Jonathan asks, fluttering around nervously. He looks like his mom— all dark eyes and waving hands. 

Steve finds a smile for him, kicks off his shoes and flops back onto Nancy’s bed. Casual, he’s casual. Be fuckin’ cool, Harrington. “I’m alright, man.”

“This is my house, Jonathan,” Nancy reminds him, gentle, and she’s almost smiling. “I’ll get the drinks.” And then she looks over at him, her eyes so blue and soft Steve thinks he could just curl up in them, just stare at them forever. She quirks her eyebrow, like, _tell me what you want, Steve Harrington._ It's such a Nancy Wheeler look. It's a look he hasn't gotten in over a year. He doesn't know how to answer her, doesn't know what the right answer is. All he knows is that his heart flips over in his chest, and his fingers twitch, and he can't breathe, can't breathe, he loves her so much.

But Steve can’t say that, because shit, wouldn't that be a shit-show. He can't do anything but find his cool and say, “just a water, Nance.” His voice only shakes a little which, honestly, is way less than he thought it might.

“Yeah, me too,” Jonathan says, fidgeting with his pants pockets. 

“Alright,” Nancy says, nodding determinedly then spinning on her heel and marching out her bedroom door. 

Jonathan watches her leave and Steve watches Jonathan, watches how his shoulders keep relaxing then tensing then relaxing again. Like he can’t decide what to do or how to do it. It’s hard to watch, makes Steve feel more tense and awkward than he already does. 

“Hey,” he says, and then his voice gets stuck. Jonathan looks at him with his deep brown eyes, all watery sympathy, all steady reassurance. Steve loves him, loves him, loves him. It’s all he can do to bite the words back and say, “come over here,” instead.

Jonathan gazes at him, and his face looks so soft, and fragile, too. It’s so far from the firm sturdiness of before, so different from the calm capability Jonathan had put on like a jacket back at the bowling alley. Steve is still a little embarrassed about that, to be frank. He hasn’t broken down like that since he was a kid, not in public, anyway. But it’s done now, and Steve feels… fuck, he feels brand new. Like a weight got lifted off him, like he finally set down something heavy he didn’t know he was carrying. He thinks Nancy feels the same.

She’d been quiet in the car, they all had. There’d been some confusion about who was sitting where, Jonathan and Nancy glancing at Steve and the car like they thought he'd throw a fit about sitting in the back seat. Steve had just shrugged and climbed in, had let Nancy have the front, had given Jonathan the keys and let him drive.

When Jonathan started the car, the radio came on right away, the low thrumming of an electric guitar shattering the quiet. Jonathan had jumped half a foot in the air, and Nancy had flinched, and they’d both reached to turn the radio down at the same time. Steve stopped them before they could shut it off completely, though.

He hadn’t wanted to sit alone in the quiet with them, hadn’t wanted to think too hard or too deeply about why they were all heading to Nancy's or what he was going to tell them when they all got there. Fuck, maybe he should've. Maybe he should've used the ride to plan, to write a tidy little speech in his head. Maybe it would've been easier. Would've been the smart thing to do, was probably the thing Nancy and Jonathan were trying to do.

But, shit, Steve's always done his best work while improvising and under pressure. Don't fix what ain't broke, right? 

“I like this song,” he’d said. And they’d left it on for him.

Jonathan took the turns slow, like he was afraid he might break Steve’s car, somehow. Nancy had held Jonathan’s hand over the dash. Steve had rolled down the window then lain down, flat on his back with his feet out the window. 

“Steve,” Nancy scolded, half laughing. Her eyes were dry but still a little red.

“If we crash—” Jonathan started, but Steve just laughed, finally feeling settled.

“You’re not gonna crash, Byers,” he said.

Jonathan had gone quiet and focused. Both him and Nancy looked deep in thought so Steve just tilted his head back and let Van Halen wash over him. The guitar thrummed in the cold winter quiet, the radio singing out, _no, I can’t recall anything at all, baby this blows them all away._

Steve had laughed, his heart leaping in his chest, because goddamn, it was just too goddamn on the nose. Jonathan glanced at him in the rear mirror, Nancy twisted in her seat to stare. And, shit, but they were all thinking... well, the song made it impossible not to think about... fuck, but it was going to be horrible no matter what. Steve figured he might lean into it, and besides, it was kind of funny. If he couldn't laugh at himself what the fuck could he laugh at, right?

“It’s got what it takes,” Steve had sung out, grinning and staring out the window, his shoe-laces flapping in the breeze. “So tell me why can’t this be love? Straight from my heart, tell me why can’t this be love?”

Nancy’s curly hair blew in the wind, her eyes big, and Jonathan’s hands went white on the steering wheel and, shit, yeah, maybe Steve should’ve kept his fat mouth shut. He knows they like quiet when they’re thinking, anyway. Like time to recover from emotional moments. They don’t like to dust themselves off and hit the ground running, not like Steve.

“Sorry,” he apologized.

“No,” Jonathan blurted. “No, don’t… don’t apologize.”

Nancy had smiled at him, just a little, and reached back to set her hand on his knee. “No, it’s… you’ve got a great voice, Steve. It surprised me, at first, but. You really do.”

“I know you guys like the quiet,” Steve had said, because he didn't know how to respond to that, and figured it was better than a stuttered, _sorry, what?_

“Not always,” Jonathan told him. “It’s more like… I don’t know. I just don’t know how to break it.”

Nancy didn’t say anything, just held his knee a little tighter with her right hand, position awkward because of her car seat, and squeezed Jonathan’s fingers with her left.

Steve stared at them, feeling like… fuck, feeling like he’d give them anything. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll keep singing, then.” 

And he had. He’d sung like an idiot, filling the silence, unwinding and having a little fun, something in his chest loosening up with every repetition of _so tell me why can’t this be love? Tell me why can’t this be love?_ Nancy got in on it toward the end, rolling her window down too and hollering out the window _I've got to know! Why! Can't! This! Be love!_ While Jonathan bobbed his head, a reluctant smile on his face. 

When they got to Nancy’s house, they all just sat in the car for a moment, letting the radio wash over them. Hesitated until Steve couldn’t take it any more and moved first. He sat up from where he was laying down and opened his car door. He opened Nancy’s next, then walked around to open Jonathan’s. He waited while they pulled themselves out of the car. Nancy tucked herself into his side and Jonathan hovered behind them protectively, his hands outstretched, like he thought maybe they’d collapse or disappear on him. 

Remembering all that makes Steve’s heart squeeze in his chest, makes his eyes prick a little at their corners. 

“Jonathan,” he says, his voice so soft, softer than kittens or cotton. “Jonny-boy, come on and lay down. Lay down by me.”

“Okay,” Jonathan says, his cupid-bow lips pink and parted and… and fucking pretty. So fucking pretty. 

When Jonathan lays by him, their shoulders brush, then their arms, then their hips and knees and ankles, until Jonathan is pressed down the length of his side. Steve can hear his breath, can feel his shoulders shifting, just a little, as he breathes. 

It would be so easy to kiss him. 

Steve could do it so easy, just like that, quicker than blinking. Just roll over and put one hand on Jonathan’s jaw and the other in his hair, and then cover Jonathan’s lips with his own. He could do it. He’s no fucking coward, he could do it. He could. He could, fuck his dad, he could.

He won’t.

Maybe he’s a coward. Maybe he is, because the thought of kissing Jonathan makes something tight and panicked swell up in his chest. He wants it so bad. He wants Jonathan so bad he thinks he might die from it. And he shouldn’t, and it’s dangerous, he’s always known how dangerous it is. He’s just one guy and he’s not Robin. He’s not brave like Robin.

God, what would Robin do if she were here?

Kiss Jonathan, probably, the way she screwed up her courage and kissed Monica Horowitz. Robin would fake-laugh and confess and sit there, shaking with tears in her eyes and so, so brave, the way she’d done with Steve in that fucking mall bathroom. Maybe Steve should do that. Lay all his cards on the table and tell Jonathan he’s in love with him, and he’s in love with Nancy, and then wait for Jonathan to let him down gentle.

Because Jonathan wouldn’t punch him, wouldn’t lay him flat in the bad way _or_ the good way. Jonathan’s so kind, even if he walks around with his fists clenched and his jaw set, like the whole world is swinging on him all the time, like he’s constantly in a fight with something none of them can see. 

No, Jonathan would gaze at him, big brown eyes all sympathetic, and he’d pat Steve’s shoulder and fumble for something to say, and Nancy would come in and Jonathan would blurt out what happened, and then Nancy would smooth it all over. Talk about _we’ll always be friends, Steve,_ and _we don’t feel that way about you but we’re so glad you told us, let’s go catch a movie next weekend, have a safe drive home._ Shit, they’d probably call him that night, too, just to check up on him. Make sure he hadn’t drowned himself in his fucking pool. 

No fucking thanks. They can keep their pity to themselves. Steve will just keep this secret right here in his chest until he dies, tucked away safe where it can’t hurt anybody. Where it can’t hurt him. What had he told Robin, last night? That sometimes the hurting was worth it? 

_That's what makes me worried,_ she'd said, her eyes big and blue and kind.

 _Yeah,_ Steve mentally responds. _That makes two of us._

Steve takes a deep, shaking breath, and Jonathan echoes it. They breathe like that, back and forth, until Nancy comes back into the room. Her hair is long again, and curly, her sweatshirt hanging loose on her frame. She's huddled into it like she's cold, the faded blue letters bold across her chest, and, wait, hold on— 

“Hey, Nance, is that my sweatshirt?” Steve says. 

Nancy blushes but firms her jaw, stares him right in the eye. “Yes.”

She looks like she’s ready for a fight, but Steve couldn’t ever fight her on anything. He’s never been able to, really. It’s another reason why Jonathan is good for her: he doesn’t just lay down and take what she dishes out. Sometimes Nancy needs that. Nancy needs someone who doesn’t turn delicate and fragile every time she lashes out, or has a bad day, or whatever.

“Was wondering where that went,” Steve says, as casual and calm as he can. “Glad you kept it, honestly. It’d probably be too small for me now.”

 _I_ _t looks good on you,_ Steve doesn’t say. _You should wear my clothes forever, shit, I should find something for Jonathan, too. Let something of mine keep you warm. Let me stay close to you like that. Fuck, make it yours, keep it forever._

Maybe he should just spit it out. Maybe he should just say, shit, Nance, you look good in it, and damn the consequences. Because he doesn’t want to keep thinking these things forever. Sometimes you’ve got to kill hope before you can move on. If he never says it he’ll never get rid of the goddamn voice in the back of his head saying maybe, maybe. Maybe if you’re perfect, this time around. Maybe if you don’t screw it all up like you always do.

“Steve,” Nancy says, her voice so soft, her eyes steady. She looks at Jonathan, sets the waters on her dresser, then crawls onto the bed with them. She tucks herself between them, except there’s not any space, so she just ends up laying on them, half on Steve and half on Jonathan. She’s on her back, too, and her spine is bony, and her elbow is digging into Steve’s stomach, and Steve would fight a fuckin’ hundred monsters to keep her right where she is. To keep the both of them where they are.

Because Jonathan’s shoulder is still pressed against his. He can feel the back of Jonathan’s hand against his own and, as he breathes, he feels it twitch. Feels his fingers move, a slow, slow slide against Steve’s own. If Steve were braver he’d hold Jonathan’s hand.

He’s not. But if he were.

“I need to ask you a question,” Nancy says. When Steve turns his head she’s staring up at the ceiling, blinking hard. He can feel when Jonathan stiffens up, can feel it when Jonathan’s chest shakes, and his own shakes in an echo. But Nancy stays steady. Fuck, Steve loves that about her.

“Shoot,” he says, turning his head to tuck his nose closer to her hair. He lets himself hook his pinky over Jonathan’s, just a little. Just barely.

“You and Robin,” Nancy starts, and Steve laughs. He can’t help it.

“God, Nancy,” Steve says. He can’t think of anything to say next, though.

“What?” Nancy says, and she could have sounded angry, maybe, if Steve didn’t know what she sounds like when she gets nervous.

“Nothing, babe,” he says. “Go on and ask your question.” The pet name comes out automatically, without him thinking about it. It rolls off his tongue easily, just like it used to, but Nancy doesn’t flinch and neither does Jonathan. It makes him brave. Well, a little. Just brave enough to turn, to shift himself and Nancy so he can lay more on his side. He brings the hand not touching Jonathan’s up to play with her hair. Jonathan hooks another finger around Steve’s. His ring finger.

Her throat works. He can see it out of the corner of his eye. She sets her jaw like she’s about to do something terrifying. Jonathan’s fingers tremble against his, just a little.

“Nance?” Steve asks, nervous now. “What’s wrong? Jonathan?”

“You say it,” Nancy says. “You say it, I can’t, I don’t know—”

“You need to say it,” Jonathan says, his voice quiet. Steady, even as his fingers tremble.

They’re such perfect complements: Jonathan’s voice solid as his fingers shake, Nancy’s hands steady while her voice quivers. Steve gives in and wraps his hand around Jonathan’s, holds it tight. Twirls his fingers in Nancy’s hair.

“Take your time, Nance,” Steve says. “I can wait.”

“I know,” Nancy says, the words breaking in the middle. “I know because you’ve _been_ waiting, I don’t know why I can’t—”

“Hey,” Steve says, and his heart is in his mouth, they sure as shit can hear the love there. Can probably hear it all in the single syllable. “It’s alright.”

Beside him, Jonathan shifts, curling up closer to him and Nancy, which Steve hadn’t thought was possible. Jonathan throws one knee over them both, pinning Nancy and Steve against him, the hand not holding Steve’s coming up around Nancy and settling on Steve’s waist. 

“We’ve got you,” Steve says, because it doesn’t look like Jonathan’s going to say anything.

Nancy breathes out, hard, and just lays on them. After a while she turns over so she’s on her stomach, pressed between them, held close. 

And then:

“I love you, Steve,” Nancy says. “I’m in love with you. Still. Or maybe again, I don’t know which. I just… I love you. _We_ love you.”

“What?” Steve sputters, and then, “wait, shit, no, don’t say anything. Hold on. I’m… I’m digesting.” 

Over Nancy’s shoulder, he can see Jonathan’s lips quirk even as he feels Jonathan’s hand shake in his own. “Take your time,” Jonathan tells him.

Nancy breathes in deep, like she’s trying to keep herself together, then says, “take your time,” too.

Everything feels too big. He feels like there’s too much inside him that’s trying to get out all at once. He gets like this sometimes. Sometimes he’ll get surprised by something, like fucking monsters or Russians, or what the fuck ever, and he’ll just… flip, for a while. Get everything out all at once because it’s so _big_ inside him, all those feelings just take up so much space he can’t think about anything, not a damn thing. 

Robin’s been helping him with it. She’ll look at him and know, and she’ll say, _start at the beginning._ Like, what’s the root of the problem here? What’s at the heart of it? Sure, fine, you're feeling this way, but you've got to figure out why. 

Steve takes a big breath and focuses on Robin in his mind, conjures her up until it feels like she’s laying next to him in the bed, comfortable and comforting. He blurts out the first thing that pops into his head.

“Do you remember when we had English together, Jon? Tenth grade. Well, tenth grade for me. Third period, fall semester.”

“What?” Jonathan and Nancy say, together. Steve feels himself smile. He can’t help it.

“Steve, what are you—” Nancy starts, but Jonathan cuts her off.

“I remember,” Jonathan tells him. Nancy purses her lips together, like she’s determined not to interrupt again. Her fingers curl into Steve’s shirt. He can feel them, right over his heart.

Shit, shit, he doesn’t know how to say this. But, God, he never fucking does, so what does it matter? What's it matter as long as he says _something?_ He decides, then and there, that he’s going to be brave for them. Again. Always, maybe. As many times as it takes. They deserve it.

Maybe he deserves it, too. They make him feel like he does.

“You sat, like, at an angle to me. One row up, on my left. And I’d just… man, I’d stare at you all class. Every day. You had these fucking blue pens, the cheap ones, with the caps you take off. You chewed them all the time.”

Jonathan breathes in, sharp. Nancy echoes him right after, the both of them going breathless and surprised. Steve feels his mouth twitch again, even as his heart pounds, pounds, pounds in his chest. He forces himself to keep going, forces himself to lean in, plant his fucking feet. The first time is the scariest. He learned that with them, too. Learned that at the Byers house with Christmas lights flashing and a bat in his hand.

 _Take a swing, Harrington,_ he thinks to himself. _Hey, batter, batter._

“Oh, man, I was fuckin’ obsessed with you. I couldn’t look away. Every little thing you did, I saw it. I noticed. And I didn’t… I didn’t know what that meant. Not until October, anyway. Do you remember October?”

Jonathan opens his mouth and Nancy stares at Steve with her big, big eyes, and Steve cuts Jonathan off before he can say anything.

“Because I do. Shit, how could I forget, right? I bet you can’t either. That’s when I figured it out. What it meant, I mean. When I couldn’t stop looking at you. Tommy H said something, I think. Not about me, he wasn’t in English with us, but about some other kid. I forget who, now. Said some shit about how he was staring in the locker room, I don’t know. Can’t remember the exact words. But that’s when I figured it out: what it meant when I couldn’t stop looking at those fucking pens in your mouth.”

“Steve…” Jonathan says, his voice hoarse.

“Hold on, man, I’m not done,” Steve says. He forces himself to smile. “I know that’s not the part of October you remember. Nah, I bet you remember what came after. I showed up at school the next day and fucked up your locker, pushed you around in front of the bus.” 

Steve shakes his head. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he can’t look at them, can’t look at Nancy, sure as hell can’t look at Jonathan.

“You scared the shit out of me, man,” Steve admits.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Jonathan and Nancy don’t move. Steve tries to let that be comforting but he thinks mostly they’re not moving ‘cause he shocked them stupid.

“I didn’t know that,” Jonathan finally says, his voice soft. 

“Nobody knew,” Steve says. “That was the whole fuckin’ point.”

Steve forces himself to turn his head and look at them, and his heart skips, jumps, fucking _gallops_ in his chest. Their eyes are so, so soft, the both of them. All gentle and loving in a way he’s only caught snatches of. Nancy hasn’t looked at him like that in… in a long time, and maybe Jonathan never has. Well, that’s not exactly right: he’s glimpsed it out of the corner of his eye a couple times, but every time he goes to look closer the expression falls right off Jonathan’s face.

“I’m sorry for it, though. I don’t know if I ever told you that. With words, I mean, not just with the camera.”

He stares at them, trying to memorize the way their eyes shine in the dim, warm light of Nancy’s room. He wants to keep this memory with him forever. And then Jonathan’s brow furrows, like Steve’s words are slotting into place in his brain.

“What do you mean, the camera?” Jonathan says.

Steve stares at him. “You know, the camera.”

“What?” Jonathan says.

“The camera!” Steve says.

Steve feels it when Nancy starts to shake and he looks up at her, alarmed, and realizes she’s laughing. If she’s laughing because she’s overwhelmed, or relieved, or just because she thinks the situation is funny, Steve’s not sure. But she’s laughing. And she’s beautiful.

For a moment, those are the only two things Steve knows.

“What about my camera?” Jonathan says, confused. He’s staring between Steve and Nancy like he doesn’t know where to look. A dimple appears when he smiles, a wide slash across his cheek. And then that’s the third thing Steve knows: Jonathan’s smile, the deep cheerful pit of his dimple.

The big feelings are back, swallowing him up. He lets it happen, lets himself drown in it.

“Steve?” Nancy prompts. She lifts her head so that her chin is digging into his shoulder, pinching his skin when she swivels it back and forth, looking between him and Jonathan.

“You know, the camera that I bought you. As an I’m sorry. Well, I wasn’t sorry for breaking it, because you kind of had it coming, ‘cause of those fuckin’ photos. But I knew… well, I knew… I don’t know. That you deserved a second chance, maybe— God knows I needed a second chance. And I wanted to give you something nice for Christmas.” Steve says. “You still use it.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, his voice choked. “I still use it.” He sounds poleaxed, awe-struck, like his whole world got shifted around. Like he looked up and discovered the sky was green instead of blue.

“What I’m trying to say is I love you,” Steve tells him.

Jonathan breathes out, hard, and then gasps air back in, his eyes so big Steve can’t help but smile. Immediately, Jonathan’s eyes go shiny, welling up with tears, and Steve can’t help but laugh, too. Jonathan Byers, crying at every damn thing. It’s sweet. Jonathan is so, so sweet.

“Jonathan,” Steve says, throwing an arm across Nancy so that he can reach Jonathan. He grabs the edge of Jonathan’s shirt and slides his hand under it, touches the warm skin of his side. “Jonny-boy, don’t cry about it!”

Nancy giggles, but the sound is a little strained. Her eyes are cautious, wary. As he watches, she steadies her face, bites her lip so it doesn’t wobble. Steve thinks maybe he’s the only one who notices. Jonathan’s still looking stunned, his eyes shining, that gentle, surprised smile on his face, like he can’t fuckin’ believe Steve loves him back. Shit, Steve can't believe _Jonathan_ loves him.

Steve wants to kiss him. The thought doesn’t hurt, this time. It comes easy, rolls through him like a shiver.

Nancy huffs, her eyes squeezed shut. Steve smiles at her even though she doesn’t see it. He can’t help it. He slides closer to her, closer to them both. Him and Nancy are nose to nose, now, and she peeks through her eyelashes at him, her eyes a little wet. Steve nudges their noses together and she stares at him, caution flashing in her eyes like a construction light.

“You wanna know when I knew I loved you?” Steve asks her.

A single tear slides down Nancy’s cheek. She turns and scrubs her face against Steve’s shirt. Jonathan’s arms tighten around them both. 

“So much,” she says, choking on both her tears and her laughter.

Steve grins at her. He feels lighter than he has in a while. “You came to one of my basketball games.”

She pauses. And then:

“That’s _it?”_ She squawks.

“I’m not fuckin’ done!” He laughs, brushing their noses together again and then burying his face in her hair. Jonathan’s hand twitches on his waist so Steve drags his nails over Jonathan’s side. Jonathan shudders and Steve smiles wider. Nancy taps her fingers, fast, over Steve’s heart.

“You hated those games,” Steve remembers. “God, you complained about them all the time. Hated how long they were, how they were always on school nights, hated how the fuckin’ gym smelled. It was late October. Right before everything went down. The season had started early, I forget why. It was one of the first games of the year.”

Steve stares down at Nancy, feeling so fond he could explode from it. When he looks up, Jonathan is watching them both, rapt, like he wants to know about this part of their lives so much he’s afraid to blink and miss something. 

“I remember that,” Nancy says, her mouth twitching, her lips curving. “I wore one of your old jerseys. I was so excited. Barb thought I was being an idiot.” She says it nostalgically, without the bitter, acid hurt that would’ve been there a year ago. 

Steve laughs. “God, I remember that. She was so pissed you drug her along. Glared at me half the night when we went out for milkshakes, after, do you remember that?”

Nancy snorts, burying her face in his shoulder. “She hated you,” she reminisces, fond.

“The looks she gave me in the hallways…” Steve trails off, chuckling. Remembering all that feels like remembering a past life, like a different person knew Barb, not him. He wonders if Nancy feels like that sometimes, too. 

“I never saw you play,” Jonathan says. His hand twitches against Steve’s side again, grasping a little, and Jonathan’s knee slides against the back of Nancy’s legs. Steve and Nancy both turn to look at him.

“You never went to a game?” Steve asks, surprised, because basketball is, like, a big deal in Hawkins. It has been his whole life. “I was in track, too. You ever go to a meet?”

Jonathan shakes his head. “Wish I did, now.”

“He wore these little shorts,” Nancy tells him. “You would’ve loved it.”

“I looked fuckin’ great in those, Nance,” Steve defends.

“I know!” Nancy laughs. “I know! That’s why I said he would’ve liked it!”

Jonathan turns red and Steve’s mouth drops open. Nancy dissolves into giggles, shaking on both their chests. “I see how it is, Byers,” Steve says. “Shit, if you like ‘em that much I could dig a pair out later, I think I’ve still got some in the back of my closet—”

“I thought we were talking about Nancy,” Jonathan deflects, almost whining. “Go back to that.”

Nancy’s leaning up, still laughing, and Steve’s face is next to Jonathan’s, now, inches away from touching him.

It’s easy to lean in and kiss him. It’s the easiest thing in the world. Shit, Steve doesn’t know why he waited so long. 

Jonathan’s lips are soft and thin, a little wet. Jonathan kisses back immediately, surging forward, his arms tightening around Steve and Nancy. He kisses hard and fast, like he’s not sure he’ll get another chance. It makes Steve’s heart squeeze in his chest. Steve slows it down, nibbles Jonathan’s lower lip before sliding his tongue along Jonathan’s, deep and easy. Jonathan makes a confused, shuddering sound.

Shit, it’s a really good sound. Steve wants to hear it again. 

Nancy’s a sturdy weight on his chest, and she buries her face in Steve’s neck as he kisses Jonathan. Jonathan gives up on fighting, lets Steve kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, letting out trembling little noises, his fingers going tight on Steve’s hip when Steve drags his nails over Jonathan’s back. 

When Steve breaks the kiss, Jonathan gasps and squirms closer. All Nancy’s weight is on Steve, now, and her cheeks are flushed. It’s easy to lean up and kiss her, too.

They fall back into it, muscle memory, like they never stopped. He’s kissing her and she’s kissing him back and, shit, but it feels like all those times he pulled her into a bathroom, or a closet, or the back seat of his car. She slides her tongue into his mouth and he sucks on it, eager. He kisses her again, again, again, and she kisses back every time.

Steve pulls away, gasping a little, because if he doesn't stop now he's not going to. Fuck, but Nancy still drives him crazy. “I knew I loved you at that basketball game because I took a bad hit, got knocked flat on my ass and the ref didn’t call it." 

Nancy peppers smacking kisses all over his face, like she can’t stop. Jonathan presses in and kisses the corner of Steve’s jaw, nipping with his teeth. Steve smiles and lets them before pulling back just so he can gaze at them both. 

“It was such a dirty hit,” he says, grinning. “It was bullshit the ref didn’t call it, and… shit, Nance, and you fucking— stood up so fast, hollered at that ref for five whole minutes. Barb got _so_ fucking embarrassed. And you didn’t care, you were so mad. For me. You got that mad _for me,_ and… and nobody had done that before. You were the first.”

Nancy blinks really fast, her eyes shining. “I love you,” Nancy says again.

“I love you, too,” Steve says. “Shit, Nance, I never stopped.”

“Really?” She asks. Her voice shakes, just a little. Her lip trembles.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs with a smile, giving into the feeling. “Yeah. Not for a single day.”

She gives a wet laugh. “God, we’ve been stupid, huh?”

Steve snorts. “Who’s _we?_ I’ve been here the whole time.”

And it’s a joke, it is, or at least it’s mostly a joke, but her face falls anyway. She leans in and kisses him, fast, and then lays back down, half on him and half on Jonathan again. 

“We should talk about that,” she says.

“Do we have to?” Steve says. 

They both look at him, brows furrowed. She’s looking down at him and Jonathan’s looking up from where he’s still half-buried in Steve’s neck. 

“Well, I just mean, you know,” Steve stutters. “I love you. We all love each other. Can’t we just, like, sit in that for a while?”

Nancy purses her lips, staring at him, and then nods. Jonathan kisses his neck, real soft, and then Jonathan fumbles for Nancy's hand, bringing it up so he can kiss her palm.

“You wanna know when I knew I loved you?” Jonathan asks Steve, the words quiet.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He tugs his arm out from between their bodies and throws it around Jonathan, pulling him in as he shifts Nancy until he's in the middle, with Nancy and Jonathan on either side. Nancy leans her head on his shoulder and stretches her arm across his stomach, catching Jonathan's hand with her own. Jonathan traces the scar there, delicate, with one finger. Steve feels like his heart might explode.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Jonathan warns him. “You remember when I first called you, like, at the end of September?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I was confused as shit. Had no fucking clue why you were calling.”

Jonathan snorts. “Yeah, I didn’t know either. All I knew was that… well, me and Nancy’d had a fight. Do you remember?” Jonathan asks, lifting his head to peer at Nancy over Steve’s chest.

“Of course,” Nancy sniffs. “You were being an idiot, Jonathan.”

“About what?” Steve asks, a little baffled.

Nancy opens her mouth then shuts it. Opens it again.

“You don’t even remember!” Jonathan accuses, grinning.

“I know I was right,” she says, but her eyes are twinkling, too, her sweet smile shining in the dusky pink of her room.

“Whatever, Nance,” Jonathan says, but he can’t control his face. His deep eyes are shining. “Anyway, we’d fought, and we refused to call each other for, like, a week, and I was… shit, I was going crazy. All I could think about was that something could be wrong in Hawkins and I’d never know. I wouldn’t know if one of the other kids got snatched, or if people started getting possessed again. I wouldn’t fucking know! Because I was in fucking Chicago! It was hell. I felt like I was going crazy. Will almost kicked me out of the house.”

“That sucks, man,” Steve tells him. He turns his head to nuzzle his nose against Jonathan’s, just because he can, just because he wants to. Jonathan leans forward and seals their lips together. Steve licks across his bottom lip before pulling away.

“Yeah. What?” Jonathan says, blinking. 

Nancy gives a shrieking giggle, rolling so her head is on Steve’s chest. She’s staring at Jonathan, her eyes soft, filled with love. Steve brings a hand up and fiddles with the ends of her hair, twisting the curls around his fingers. 

Jonathan flushes. “Shut _up,_ Nancy, you do it too! I’ve seen you!”

Nancy gives a fake gasp, pretending to be offended. 

“Do what?” Steve asks, confused.

Nancy peers up at him, her blue eyes dark, her cheeks flushed. She looks… warm, and gentle, the way she is in private moments. Soft in a way that she rarely is in public, now. “Nothing, Steve,” she says, leaning up to kiss his chin. “You’re just a good kisser.”

“Really?” Steve asks, delighted.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Like you didn’t know already.”

“It’s just good to hear!” Steve defends.

“Well, you are,” Jonathan says, rolling so that he’s leaning against Steve’s side, too, his head next to Nancy’s so that their noses are brushing, the way his and Steve’s were just a second ago. “You both are.”

“I taught Nance everything she needed to know,” Steve says, smug.

Nancy whacks his stomach with the palm of her hand and Steve shakes with laughter.

“Anyway,” Jonathan says, and the tone is grumpy but Steve can feel his smile. “I was losing it. Genuinely losing it. And then I thought, you know, who do I know in Hawkins that isn’t thirteen years old that’s not Nancy? Who can I call?”

Nancy and Steve quiet down, Nancy breathing out hard and Steve going still. He feels… he feels a lot. His chest feels too big and too tight, all at the same time, and he wants Jonathan to keep talking as much as he wants him to stop. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. Doesn’t know how to deal with them wanting him. 

But he thinks maybe he’d like to know. Thinks he’d like to get used to it.

“You called me,” Steve whispers.

“Yeah. I called you,” Jonathan says. He tilts his head down and presses a kiss to Steve’s chest over his shirt and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “Turns out I don’t know many people our age. But, I mean, I also wanted… well, even if I _did_ know other people. I still would’ve called you.”

“Really?” Steve asks.

“Really,” Jonathan tells him. “I wanted… this is going to sound so stupid. But, I mean, after everything… every damn time, once the monster was gone and everyone was home, you checked on us. On me. I knew you’d pick up the phone. And I wanted… I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Oh,” Steve says, his voice so, so quiet. 

“I missed you,” Jonathan tells him. “Kind of a lot. Like, a weird amount.”

“We both did,” Nancy whispers. Jonathan nods.

“So I called,” Jonathan continues. “Got your number from Will, who got it from Dustin. And you answered. And you didn’t act like I was crazy for freaking out, for being paranoid. You just… you just sat with me on the phone and answered every damn question and then you talked about the fucking Pacers game you were watching.” 

“I remember that,” Steve tells him, twisting Nancy's hair around, around, around his fingers. “You sounded so nervous.”

Jonathan snorts. “I _was_ so nervous. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But it was… it was really nice. It helped. When I hung up I felt so much better, and I just… well, I kept calling. Even after me and Nancy made up.”

“You called every week,” Steve remembers. “Every Tuesday, which I thought was the most random fuckin’ day, but I didn’t want you to stop so I didn’t question it.”

“Mom and Will and El were always out on Tuesdays,” Jonathan confesses, a little embarrassed.

Steve huffs a little laugh. He cards his hand through Nancy’s hair again and she presses her nose to his chest. Hesitantly, he squirms his arm beneath Jonathan’s back, until his other hand is resting against Jonathan’s hip, the tips of his fingers curling in under Jonathan’s shirt. His stomach is soft, soft and bruisable like a peach. Steve wants to bite it a little. Jonathan shivers. Nancy reaches across and traces a finger down the slope of Jonathan’s nose, circling his mouth once. Jonathan bites her finger, then kisses it. Steve can see his tongue.

“And I conned you into liking me over long-distance, huh?” Steve says, because he needs to say something, or else he’s going to lose it. He’s gonna lose it. He’s gonna flip out if he thinks too deeply about Nancy’s fingers in Jonathan’s mouth, if he thinks too much about Jonathan’s pink tongue, or the way he can feel Nancy’s chest against his. His brain will melt and he doesn't have the brain cells to spare.

“You didn’t con me into anything,” Jonathan tells him. “You were just… you. And I liked talking to you. Liked having all your attention to myself.” Jonathan flushes after he says it, embarrassed as shit, but he firms up his jaw like he knows Steve needs to hear it, so he’ll push through. “I thought about you all the time. When it got to the end of November… that’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” Steve asks, heart pounding.

“That I loved you.” Jonathan says, and then he says it again. “I love you.”

Steve breathes out, hard, and thinks maybe he might cry. Maybe. It’s sinking in now, finally. That they both love him. They love _him._ They love him, they love him, they love him. Steve twists Nancy’s hair again. Nancy breathes out against his neck and slides her fingers down Jonathan’s chest as Steve scrubs his hand across Jonathan’s stomach. Jonathan shivers and bites Steve’s shirt between his teeth then lets it go, almost embarrassed.

“I love you, Jonathan,” Steve tells him, and then laughs. “God, that feels good to say. I’m gonna say it all the time, man, I’m gonna annoy the shit out of you. You’re gonna get so sick of me.”

“Never,” Jonathan says, fierce.

“He hasn’t gotten sick of me yet,” Nancy says, grinning, “and I try my best. So you’ll probably be fine.”

She leans over, kissing Jonathan square on the mouth, and Jonathan leans into it. It gets messy real quick, Jonathan opening his mouth up immediately and surging forward. Fuck, but it’s a treat to watch. The weight of their bodies are pinning Steve down and maybe that’s why he feels like his lungs are collapsing, why he feels like he can’t breathe. 

They’re kissing, kissing, kissing, and Steve wants in on this. He’s not quite sure where to start but he figures, like, no risk no reward, so he slides his hand further under Jonathan’s shirt, up his chest, and then fists his other hand in Nancy’s hair and tugs, just a little. In unison, Jonathan and Nancy make shaky, pleased noises and start kissing harder. Steve grins.

Shit, but this is gonna be good, isn’t it? The three of them are going to be good at this. He can tell.

Nancy pulls away from Jonathan with a gasp, leaves Jonathan looking hazy-eyed and panting, staring at her like he doesn’t know up from down. Steve can’t help it: he scrapes his nails down Jonathan’s chest on a reflex. He wants Jonathan to keep looking like that. Jonathan squeezes his eyes shut and trembles, like he’s holding something back. Nancy glances up at Steve and smiles, mischievous, and Steve grins at her. He gets ready for her to lean over and kiss Jonathan again, gets ready to coordinate with her and really make Jonathan shake, but she leans over and kisses Steve instead.

And, like, that’s not where Steve thought she was going with it but who the fuck is he to turn down a kiss from Nancy Wheeler? He’s not _that_ stupid, thanks. So he leans in and kisses her, bites at her lip, sucks it in between his teeth. She smiles a little and then slides her tongue along his, smooth and confident, and shit, but Steve remembers when he taught her to do that. Remembers the first time she did it to him in the back of his car after a basketball game. She’d been wearing his jersey and he’d gotten a hand under her shirt for the first time.

The memory makes him moan and Nancy moans back, an echo, and then Jonathan makes a noise, too. Steve peeks one eye open and glances over at him and then has to fight back a triumphant laugh. Shit, so this _is_ still about Jonathan, at least a little. Glee swells up in Steve’s chest because Jonathan is breathing hard, like he’s running, and his face is beat red, and Steve can see his hips squirm against the air every so often. 

Jonathan is _watching_ them. Jonathan _likes_ watching them. 

Fuck, Steve is gonna have a field day with this. Him and Nancy both are.

Nancy grins against his teeth and Steve nibbles her tongue. Beside him, Jonathan shifts, then shifts again. Steve pulls her bottom lip into his mouth again and she sighs, so soft and sweet that Steve can’t help but groan. He winds her hair around his fingers, gentle, just feeling it, and she brings her hand up to cup his chin. Steve breaks the kiss and tilts her head back, puts his teeth on her throat. 

Nancy smiles and sighs. Jonathan squeaks.

Steve bites just below her ear, at that spot she likes, and Nancy laughs. It’s a good laugh: a little shaky, half a moan. Jonathan finally rolls off him all the way and Nancy swings herself up onto his lap, smooth like they coordinated it. When Steve glances over at Jonathan, Nancy’s neck under his mouth, Jonathan’s lungs are heaving and he’s scrubbing his own hands over his chest like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Steve reaches over and grabs one of Jonathan’s hands in his own and then thinks, fuck it, and stops kissing Nancy’s neck and slides one of Jonathan’s fingers into his mouth. Jonathan stops breathing and Nancy gasps, just a little, and Steve feels like he’s gone completely fucking insane, but it feels good. Shit, it feels so good. He rubs his tongue on the pad of Jonathan’s finger and Jonathan’s hips buck up, like he’s imagining something else.

“Okay,” Jonathan gasps, the word breaking into a moan, turning it into _oka-a-ahy_. “Okay, we have to slow down. Shit, Steve, fuck.”

Steve pulls away from him immediately, almost tipping Nancy off his chest in his panic. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, words tumbling out so fast he almost doesn’t know what he’s saying. “Jonathan? Shit, I’m sorry if I—”

“No!” Jonathan interrupts. “No, it was— it’s— I liked it. Too much.”

Steve pauses. “What?”

He turns redder than anything, redder than Steve’s ever seen him. Jonathan’s hips are still moving, tiny, tiny jerks into thin air, like he just can’t help it. 

“It was really good,” Jonathan blurts. “Shit, it was… it was really good. But that’s not the _point_ of what we’re— what we’re trying to _do_ —”

“What do you mean, it’s not the point?” Steve asks. “Sex doesn’t, like, need to have a point, babe. I mean, everyone’s gotta be _into it,_ you know, but. I mean. Sex is… sex is sex, you know?” Steve doesn’t think he articulated that very well but basically all his blood is in his dick so he thinks he gets a pass.

“We can have sex after I say this,” Nancy declares, nodding like she knew exactly what Jonathan was trying to say.

“What?” Steve asks again.

“It’s my turn to say when I fell in love with you,” Nancy tells him. She's still straddling his chest, her brown curls falling over her shoulder. She's looking at him, gentle and loving, and for a split second Steve flashes back to junior year and the back seat of his car, how she looked at him just like she's doing now.

“Alright, Nance,” Steve says, so filled up with affection for her he thinks he might die. “Tell me then.”

Beside them, Jonathan takes a deep breath, finally starting to calm down. He’s still now, not fidgeting anymore, and watching them with his calm dark eyes. Steve fumbles for his hand, holds it tight. Jonathan leans forward and kisses his nose, then his mouth, then his cheek two times. Nancy smiles and kisses Jonathan’s cheek before pressing her lips to Steve’s again, more loving than passionate this time.

“I told you I loved you sometimes, before we broke up,” Nancy starts, and Jonathan squeezes his hand. “I mean, I’m sure you remember. And then… and then I couldn’t tell you. When you needed me to.”

“It’s alright, Nance,” Steve says again, because it is now. She’s straddling his chest and gazing at him with eyes softer and more affectionate than anything Steve’s ever seen, and if she didn’t love him then, she loves him now. The year-old ache is already fading away, already dissolving in his chest. “It is, I’m not just saying that,” he tells her, because he needs her to know.

She purses her lips, not convinced, and he knows she’s going to spend a while feeling guilty. It’s just how she is. How she’s built.

“I said it, you know? Because it's what you say. But I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure, and it felt so much like lying. And that night at the party, I was so _tired_ of lying. About Barb, about the monsters. Everything. It was just… it all felt so… you were my first boyfriend, Steve. How was I supposed to know what love felt like? How was I supposed to _know?”_

Steve sighs a little, because he understands, now. He understands her better than he ever has. Of course she couldn’t say it. She always has to be sure, and love is a hard thing to be sure about. He doesn’t blame her for that. Feelings are messy as shit, he knows that better than anyone. 

“Nancy,” he says, the word coming out lighter than air. Jonathan spoons up behind him, his front against Steve’s back, their hips pressed close. Jonathan’s still hard, a part of Steve notices, and the thought makes him feel giddy and sweaty and good, but there will be time for that later. There’ll be time for everything later.

Nancy scoots closer to him and slides her leg in between Steve’s, laying down. Steve wraps her up, lets her hide in his chest the way she used to. She still fits there, easy as anything. 

“I got with Jonathan, we already went over this part, and it was easy. It was good, it was really good. I was so happy I… I blocked everything out. It was just me and him against the whole world, and it felt… it felt like I was on a team. Like, I knew he’d be on my side for anything, for everything, and I’d be on his.” 

Steve nods, a little smile on his face. He’s glad they had that. Shit, he’s got that with Robin: a different form of it, sure, but he does. He’d never begrudge them that. Never in a million years. 

“But the further we got into it, you know, the longer we were together it was… I’d steal his shirts like I stole yours, and he’d kiss my palm and my heart would just _jump._ The same way it did when I was with you, when you’d pick me up and swing me around. But I didn’t think about it too hard. I didn't _want_ to. I didn't think there was any point. I had Jonathan, and I love him, and so what if I’d loved you? That sounds horrible, but I thought… what did it matter? We were done. So I just tried not to think about it.”

The words hurt to hear, feel like flash-fire over his heart, racing and burning him up before it goes out, over quicker than blinking. It hurts and then it’s gone, leaving only a soft kind of sympathy behind. He doesn’t understand, not really, but he understands better than he could have, before. Nancy’s so determined, so stubborn. Of course she’d dig her heels in, defend her own choices inside her head for months. Argue with herself back and forth, none of them ever knowing. Her face is so pale and sad Steve almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He kisses her nose, the small round point of it, as gentle as he can. 

“When I really, really knew, though… It’s going to sound stupid.” She says, a wan smile on her face. She looks like one of those ladies in a painting, all watery big eyes, curly haired and beautiful. 

“It won’t,” Steve says, “but if it is I promise not to laugh. Scout’s honor.”

Jonathan chuckles a little, muffled into his shoulder. Steve can feel it. 

Nancy quirks her lips in response, a dimple peaking out. “You’ve never been a scout in your life, Steve Harrington.”

“Was so! I was in third grade. I stuck it out in that dorky fuckin’ uniform for almost a whole month,” Steve tells her. “But they kept trying to get us to, like, cook bugs or whatever, and I thought, you know. Fuck that.”

“They did not,” Nancy says, rolling her eyes.

“They did. It was Jonathan’s favorite part,” Steve grins, and immediately Jonathan whacks his side.

“I was fucking seven years old!” Jonathan sputters. “I was seven and the other Tommy fucking dared me! It was one fucking cricket and nobody ever lets me fucking forget it, fuck!”

Nancy’s smile flashes across her face, joyful and bright and so sweet Steve can’t look away. A giggle forces its way out of her throat. Steve laughs, too, just because she is, and Jonathan whacks his side again when he whines, “stop _laughing_ at me, I got called Bugboy for years!”

Steve laughs harder. Nancy snorts, a harsh, damn near pig sound, and Steve fuckin’ hollers. Jonathan bites his shirt in between his teeth, laughing so hard he shakes the whole bed. 

“Holy shit, Nancy,” Jonathan gets out, between belly laughs.

“Shut _up,_ Bugboy,” Nancy responds, giggling so hard she barely chokes the words out.

“Shit, Nance!” He chokes out after a few seconds, gulping down air. 

“I can’t believe you reminded her of that,” Jonathan complains, still laughing. His arms are tight like bands around Steve’s waist. Nancy throws her other arm across him, so she can fumble for Jonathan’s hip.

“It was the funniest thing you’ve ever done,” Steve says, without regret. “Shit, man, seven year old you was a fuckin’ riot.”

“Yeah, where’d it go,” Nancy grins. 

“Okay!” Jonathan says. “We can be done with this!”

Steve rolls so he’s flat on his back then turns to kiss Jonathan, half apologetic and still smiling. Jonathan kisses back even though he’s pretending to be mad. Their noses rub together and Jonathan’s breath is wet and warm. When the kiss breaks, Steve feels hazy, like his thoughts are far away. When Jonathan smiles, his eyes squint up so much it’s hard to see his eyes. It’s endearing. Steve kisses the corner of his eye, so carefully he can feel his eyelashes against his lips. 

When he settles back onto the bed, Nancy’s staring at them both. “That’s how I knew.”

“That you loved me?” Steve asks, a little confused. 

“You’re so… you’re so gentle, Steve. You used to try and hide it but you don’t anymore.” She stares at him, then leans forward until their noses are brushing together, until they’re breathing the same air. “God, it must’ve been two months ago, now. I walked downstairs and found you in our basement with the kids. They were quiet, all laying on the floor. I think Mike must’ve said something bratty and brought the mood down. I don’t know. And you were on the couch, watching them, just as quiet.”

Over his waist, Nancy’s arm flexes, and he knows she’s grabbing tighter to Jonathan. Steve doesn’t move, just lets her get through what she needs to say.

“One of the kids started crying, I can’t remember who. Maybe Max. And that set the whole group of them off, too. I was about to go in except then you got up from the couch and settled down on the floor and got your arms around every single one of them. I was… I was so, so grateful they had you. That we all had you, in whatever way we could get you.”

She kisses him, so quick he gets surprised. Fuck, but he never thought he’d have this, any of it. Nancy Wheeler kissing him again, again, like she wants to, like she wants him. Jonathan Byers at his back, his arms around him, all their legs thrown together, all three of them horizontal on Nancy’s bed. 

God, he’d kill to keep this. He’d die to keep this. But… but maybe he won’t have to. Maybe he’ll just wake up, every morning, and they’ll be there with him, no fighting required. 

The thought lets him pull away, lets him sit still and listen.

“And that’s when I knew. All at once, like I'd known it my whole life. I knew I loved you, and that I’d been loving you. Because I knew what that hug felt like. I knew how safe those kids felt, how grateful, because you always made me feel like that.” She leans their foreheads together and she’s so close to him that their eyelashes brush. “You still make me feel like that.”

“Good,” Steve says, a little fiercer than he means to. “You deserve to feel like that, Nance.”

Nancy gives him a small laugh, almost silent, her eyes happily squinting. Steve can feel it, can feel her laugh roll through him, across his mouth. They’re pressed so close together he can feel everything: every twitch of her knee, every beat of her heart in her chest.

She kisses him. 

This time, he doesn’t pull away.

Nancy surges forward, pressing them close, close, close, so much closer than Steve thought they’d ever be again. Jonathan presses in, too, and Steve is held firmly between them. It’s probably the safest he’s ever been. Or maybe it isn’t, maybe that’s a stupid thought, but it feels like he’s in the center of the world. Maybe that doesn’t make sense. His brain’s getting foggy, because Nancy’s tongue is against his, twisting, and Jonathan is sliding his hand along his stomach.

What had Nancy said, earlier? _We can have sex after I say this._ Steve grins against her mouth, he can’t help it, and lets out a little, half-hysterical giggle. Shit, but it must be later.

Nancy laughs, too, and he levers himself up until he can roll on top of her, holding his chest off hers with his arms. He’s half in a plank, hovering with half an inch between them all down their bodies, only touching her with his mouth. Just kissing.

“Holy shit,” Jonathan says, breathing hard. “Your fucking arms.”

Nancy cackles, the sound abrupt and a little startling, and Steve bites her lip as he smiles. She makes a breathy little _mm_ noise, still half laughing, and her legs come up to cradle Steve’s hips. It feels like fucking coming home. 

She hitches her thighs higher around his waist and pulls him down, down, down, and he goes easy. Shit, he’d give her everything, anything she wants. When she grinds up against him, he grinds back, automatic. It feels so natural, feels just like muscle memory. 

“Oh, shit,” Jonathan says again, his voice sounding thick, all choked up. “Fuck.” 

When Steve looks over at him, he’s pressed up close to Nancy’s side, his mouth close to where Steve’s wrist is. His dark eyes are blown even darker and he’s biting his own lip, pulling his own hair with one hand while he palms himself through his jeans with the other. 

Steve moans. He can’t help it: Jonathan looks so fucking hot. He loves that he can turn Jonathan on like this, without even touching him, loves that him and Nancy can drive him up the wall without trying. Nancy opens one eye, glances over at Jonathan, and her hips buck up hard against Steve’s, a long grind. Nancy moans and Steve does too, then Jonathan follows, like the three of them are caught in a feedback loop.

Steve dives down to Nancy’s neck and bites like he remembers her liking, and she scrapes her nails down his back. He bites down her neck in a row, gentle and hard in turns, and she slides her legs along his like she can’t stop moving. Nancy rolls her chest up against his, and he can feel her nipples through her shirt and bra, and shit. _Shit._

He dives back up to her lips and she opens immediately, thrusts her tongue against his. When she rolls her body, it’s with purpose this time, and she’s making huffy, almost-annoyed sounds into his mouth. Another laugh builds up in Steve’s chest but he chokes it back. God, he feels giddy. He feels like he’s won ten championship titles, feels like he could take on the whole fucking Upside Down and win.

Steve settles down harder against her, thrusts a little with his hips. Their pants rub together, almost too rough, but so fucking good, too. He slides his hand under her shirt, up, up, until he’s touching her chest, slides under her bra, rubs and squeezes at her nipples the way he remembers she likes, the way he could never forget. 

“How’re you feeling?” He pants. 

Nancy opens her eyes, hazy and dark and blue, and smiles, all mischief and joy. “Pretty good,” she says, before letting out another moan when Steve pinches her. She glares at him, playful, _is that all you’ve got, Steve Harrington?_ And Steve laughs and nibbles at her ear while she rolls her head to look at Jonathan. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

Steve pinches at her other nipple while he turns his head to stare at Jonathan, too. And, shit, but he almost fucking loses it then and there, because Jonathan is grinding against his own hand, hips pushing, pushing, pushing, his mouth open and pink and panting. His fly is puffed out, and he's so, so hard. Steve's mouth waters watching him. Jonathan is sweating, his hair sticking to his forehead, and God, he looks good. He looks so pretty. 

Reaching out, Steve covers Jonathan’s hand with his own, entwines their fingers then pushes their hands against Jonathan’s crotch harder. Jonathan throws his head back, letting out a strangled noise, and pushes his hips forward.

“You like watching us, Jonny-boy?” Steve asks, panting and out of breath just from watching him. He knows the answer, but he’s following a hunch. He thinks maybe Jonathan will like being talked to, too. Will like hearing something dirty. “Because I like it, you know. You watching us. Watching me.”

“Fuck,” Jonathan says, shuddering. His thighs close around their hands, holding them against his dick. He writhes, grinds hard in twitchy little jerks, the zipper on his jeans scraping against the back of Steve’s hand. “Ye-eah, Steve. Fuck.”

Steve lets his fingers trip over Nancy’s nipple, again and again, while Jonathan grinds against their held hands. When he glances up, Nancy’s staring between him and Jonathan, eyes fever-bright and blown wide. She’s biting her lip and Steve can feel her hips moving, too, because he’s still laying on her. He can feel every inch of her, can feel the tiny thrusts of her hips against his. 

“Well, Nance,” Steve grins, and it feels wide and hungry. It’s a weird feeling. It feels good. “Should we give him something to watch?”

Jonathan shivers and lets go of Steve’s hand, eager, his eyes wide like he’s afraid to blink and miss something. Shit, but Jonathan wants it, wants to watch them. Steve feels light-headed. Nancy breathes out hard like she knows it, too, like it makes her feel just as tingly as Steve.

She jerks him up by the collar of his shirt, pressing their lips together sloppy and wet. A wordless response, but one that’s clearer than fuckin’ crystal. 

“Nance,” Steve says, breathing out hard against her mouth. He lets his fingers trip over her chest, around her nipples, down her stomach. Fiddles with the button on her pants. “Nance, can I?”

“Fuck, yes,” Nancy sighs. “I missed your fingers.”

Jonathan makes a choking noise and Steve chuckles. He pops the button of her pants and slides his hand down, plays with the edge of her soft cotton panties. 

“Steve,” she says, kicking at him with her heel. “Come _on._ ”

“Or what?” Steve asks, grinning. 

“Or I’ll do it myself,” Nancy says, her eyes shining, all challenge. She grabs his hand and slides it down, under her panties. He trails his fingers over her curls, and shit, but she’s wet already, so fucking wet. He dips his fingers down, just a little, and she sighs. 

“Well?” She asks, her voice shaking, but she’s smiling, too. “You remember how to do it?”

“Do I fuckin’ remember, Jesus,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Course I fucking remember. Like I could forget.” He nudges their noses together, kisses her, all wet sliding tongue. “Thought about it all the time,” he admits.

“Me, too,” she tells him, shutting her eyes. She lets go of him and slides her hand back out from her pants and underwear, grabbing him by the hair. She tilts his head back and Steve groans, then swipes his fingers over her clit in retaliation.

Sex between them was always a little bit a contest. Steve’s missed it. A lot.

“Oh my god,” Jonathan says. He’s taken his hands off his dick, is laying on his stomach watching them, biting his lip, one hand in his hair. Giving them all his attention. It’s fucking hot.

Steve grins at him, tongue between his teeth, and then slides his fingers across Nancy’s clit slow and firm. Nancy sighs, a little shaky, and then Steve really starts to go for it. Stroking, stroking, stroking, a back and forth motion. Throws in a couple tight circles. 

Nancy’s always liked having her clit played with the most. Said that having his fingers inside her was _fine, like, it’s not bad, but I can’t come from that. I always come when you touch me… up, more._ She’d blushed, too, and she brought home a stack of books from the library he wasn’t supposed to know about at the time. She’d confessed, later, that she’d read them with Barb, found out why it feels so good when he touches her there. He’d asked for the books because he’d wanted to read them, too, and the rest is fuckin’ history. 

God, he loves those fucking books. 

“Steve,” Nancy gasps.

“You close?” Steve asks, smiling still, or maybe smiling again. Shit, but everything just feels so good. 

_"Yes,_ ” she tells him, hitching her legs around his hips tighter. It’s kind of a weird angle, what with her pants still on and him on top of her, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Shit, Nancy,” Jonathan says. “You look so good.”

Nancy gives a strained, half-moaning laugh, and Steve circles her clit again, again, again, pressing harder. Her legs start to shake. He can feel them, can feel them twitching around his hips. She throws her head back and bites her lip, panting fast, choking back little noises.

“Come on, Steve,” she says. “Come on, just… just give me—”

“Alright, Nance,” Steve says. “Alright, let me just— let me—” 

He slides his middle and ring finger down, stroking firm and long, and she clutches his shoulders and comes. She clamps her thighs around his hand, holds him there, her hips bucking, her head thrown back. She pulls hard on his hair and Steve groans. Jonathan moans, a tiny sound, but Steve can’t pay attention to it because Nancy is biting her lip and saying _ahn, ah-h-uh._ She gasps and shakes and rolls with her whole body, her toes curling. Fuck, Steve's hand is wet. She's so _wet._

When Nancy calms down, she fists his hair with both her hands and pulls him down for a sloppy kiss. 

“What about it, babe?” Steve asks, against her mouth. “Try for a second?”

Nancy snorts. “What do you mean try?”

They both know her second comes easier than her first. Know it won’t take more than thirty seconds. Jonathan pants, loud and quick, like he knows it too. 

“Alright,” Steve says. “One more for you and then we’ll treat our Jonny-boy right, how bout that?”

Jonathan chokes. Nancy grins and pulls Steve’s mouth back to hears. “Perfect.”

He touches her light, real gentle, and she shakes and pulls him down further. Her hands tug on his hair, pulling, pulling, and Steve groans and thrusts against the bed. Shit, but that feels good. He rubs at her a little faster, but just as soft. She’s so slick his fingers slip around. 

It doesn’t take long. He circles her soft and then a little firmer, a little firmer, and she starts gasping, louder than she’s been. 

“Steve, I’m— Steve, _Steve,_ ” she says. 

Steve bites her throat and she reaches down, puts her palm over her panties, pressing his hand to her hard, and comes again.

“Sh-shit,” she says, breathing heavy like she’s been running, her knees falling from around his waist to press together, closing their hands between her legs. She holds him there and thrusts against their entwined hands and Steve presses tighter to her.

He kisses her, hard, and lets her shake through it. She bucks and shivers for a couple seconds and then goes limp, her head thrown back, her pale neck long. Steve kisses her throat, over and over, because God, he loves her. He’s shaking, too, just a little, and he doesn’t know why. 

“Alright, Nance?” Steve asks.

She breathes out hard, still panting, and then giggles. Her legs are still locked around his hand. “Yes,” she says, smiling at him. “God, you’re still so good at that.”

“Well, you just look so pretty when you come,” Steve tells her, faux-bashful, giving it his best all-American _aw shucks, ma’am,_ and she snorts then whacks him with her free hand. Slowly, her legs unlock, and Steve slides his hand out of her pants and panties. 

“Oh my God,” Jonathan breathes, and Steve’s heart skips in his chest. 

When he looks over Jonathan is flushed as hell, with sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. Steve grins. Nancy shoves him toward Jonathan the same minute Steve pounces on top of him. Steve grabs Jonathan and rolls them toward Nancy so that Jonathan’s on top. 

“You guys are going to push me off the bed,” Nancy says, giggling. She climbs over them and settles where Jonathan was laying just a second ago, her head propped up, her eyes twinkling. She’s still pink-cheeked. Her legs are still shaking a little. Pride swells up in Steve’s chest, so big and fast it’s all he can feel for a minute. Shit, but he made her look like that.

Above him, Jonathan is wide-eyed and gap-mouthed.

“Your turn,” Steve tells him, smiling so big his cheeks ache. He feels tender, like his whole body is one big nerve. “What do you want? Tell me what you want, baby."

Jonathan’s hips thrust down, fast and hard, like he can’t help it. Shit, fuck, but that feels good: Jonathan’s hips rub down right over Steve’s dick and Jonathan pants, loud, and Steve bites his lip. Jonathan shakes. 

“What part of that did you like?” Steve asks, because it’s clear he hit on something. He just needs Jonathan to _tell_ him. “You like being on top of me? You like when I talk?” He leans forward and presses their lips together and Jonathan immediately kisses back, hard, almost desperate. “Or did you like when I called you baby?” Steve murmurs, pulling away a fraction of an inch.

 _“Steve,_ ” Jonathan says. 

“Come on,” Steve says. “Come on, Jonathan, tell me, I’ll make it so good—”

Jonathan crashes their lips together again, desperate, his hips jerking. Steve hauls him in further, puts both hands on Jonathan’s ass and pulls him down so their hips _really_ start dancing. Jonathan forces his tongue between Steve’s lips and Steve huffs and tries to kiss back. Jonathan’s moving so fast it’s hard to get a handle on things. His hips are working, fast, harsh thrusts, and he’s gasping into the kiss. Steve tilts his head and kisses back as good as he can, kneading Jonathan’s ass. 

“Oh my God, are you close?” Nancy says, her voice hushed. Reverent, almost. “Jonathan? Are you going to come soon?”

“Ye-es,” Jonathan says, the word breaking in the middle.

Steve suddenly realizes how on-edge he must be, how many times he must’ve gotten himself close and then backed off, just like earlier when Steve sucked on his fingers and Jonathan’s face had screwed up, chest heaving. 

“Shit, Jonathan,” Steve breathes. He pulls Jonathan’s hips down hard and Jonathan gasps against his mouth. Jonathan is moving fast and desperate, like he needs it _now now now,_ and Steve gets breathless watching him. From feeling him on top of him.

Steve rucks Jonathan’s shirt up, scrapes his nails down Jonathan’s back. His other hand slides under the waistband of Jonathan’s jeans, under the band of his boxers until he's touching bare skin. He grabs Jonathan’s ass again and Jonathan lets out a shuddering moan. It kind of sounds like Steve’s name, a little, but mostly it sounds like _s-uh-huh-uh._ Steve kisses him hard and Jonathan surges up to meet him, all tongue and teeth. Steve keeps leaning up, and Jonathan leans back to keep the kiss. Steve leans up more. Jonathan leans back.

He tricks Jonathan into sitting up like that, pressing forward until Jonathan is straddling his lap and Steve’s got his arms around his waist, still kissing him. Steve leans back, breaking the kiss, and stares at Jonathan. Jonathan gasps in response, eyes dark and hazy when he stares at Steve, like he's caught between pushing Steve down and pulling Steve on top of him. Like he’s not sure which he wants it to be.

Fuck, Steve would give him anything, all Jonathan needs to do is ask.

“What do you want?” Steve asks again.

“Just tell him, Jonathan,” Nancy urges. “He’ll make you feel so good.” 

Her eyes are dark and she’s watching them intently. Her jeans are pushed off her legs, now, and she’s laying there in her sweatshirt and panties, her fingers edging beneath the elastic band. When Jonathan looks over at her, he jerks on Steve’s lap, his hips grinding against Steve’s stomach. He’s starting to look frustrated, his mouth twitching down, his brows furrowed. Like he wants to come, like he needs it. 

Steve breathes out slow. “Okay, Jonathan. Okay.” 

Jonathan looks down at him, his stupid fucking hair a mess, his green shirt wrinkled. Steve pulls him in and kisses him, takes control of it. Makes it slow. _Settle down,_ he thinks at Jonathan. _Come on. Settle down. I’ll give you anything, you don’t need to be afraid I’ll take it away. Whatever you need._

Nancy shuffles closer to them. Steve opens one eye and watches her sit up on her knees and push Jonathan’s hair back. She leans forward and kisses Jonathan’s neck and Jonathan moans against Steve’s mouth. 

“We’ve got you,” Nancy says. 

Jonathan breathes out sharp as he kisses Steve, trying to turn it wild. Steve doesn’t let him. “We’re right here,” Steve tells him, nipping at his lips between words. “We’re not leaving.”

When he looks at Jonathan, Jonathan’s got his eyes squeezed shut. His hands are kneading Steve’s shoulders, gripping hard then letting go, scrabbling for a good grip. He kisses Jonathan again, all tongue, then sucks on his lip.

Jonathan pulls away with a jerk, ripping his mouth off Steve’s, and blurts, “I need to fucking come.” He ends the sentence on a gasp, the word come dissolving into a shaky _uh-uh-uhm_.

He looks desperate, his eyes dark and wide, like he’s been too close for a little too long. 

“Okay,” Steve says. “Alright. Let’s get you off, huh?”

Jonathan falls forward and Steve falls back, bouncing onto the bed. He'd had some sort of grand thought about switching positions, had thought about someone riding _something,_ but simple seems better for this. Jonathan seems so on-edge already. He encourages Jonathan to stretch back out, line up on top of him. Nancy lays back down, too, but closer this time, right up beside them. She puts a hand on Jonathan’s back and scratches her nails down it, gently. Jonathan shudders. Steve shifts him so their legs are slotted together. Jonathan thrusts down against his thigh, automatic, his head dropping forward. Steve grabs for Jonathan’s hand and brings it back up to his mouth, kisses each of his fingers and then slides his index finger between his lips. 

Steve grabs Jonathan’s ass, hard, and sucks his finger at the same time. 

“Oh my God,” Jonathan says. He’s staring at Steve’s mouth and Steve can’t help it: he smiles, his lips stretching around a second finger. Jonathan stares at him, big eyed, a hazy look on his face. No thoughts in his head at all. And then Jonathan smiles back. And it's all white teeth and squinting eyes.

“There we go,” Steve murmurs, giving the pads of Jonathan’s fingers a few small kisses. “You gonna ride my thigh?” Because he thinks Jonathan might like that, based on all the grinding he’s been doing. Thinks maybe Jonathan wants to.

Jonathan’s hips and legs flex in response, thrusting down hard. Steve thinks it’s probably not gonna take much: once Jonathan gets any sort of rhythm going, that’s going to be it. Steve can’t wait. He wants to see Jonathan fall apart on top of him. Wants to know what that looks like, what it feels like. Nancy’s left hand strokes up, up, up Jonathan’s back, then trails back down slow. Soothing him even as she slides her other hand inside her panties. She winks at Steve and Steve huffs.

Jonathan slams his mouth onto his and Steve kisses him back again, and again, God, he’s going to kiss Jonathan every day until he’s cold in the fucking ground. Jonathan breathes out, hot and wet, and his tongue slides against Steve’s. His hips stutter, like he’s not sure what Steve wants him to do, and Steve pushes his thigh firmer between Jonathan’s legs. He pushes Jonathan down with one hand on his ass, back on his bare skin. He knows this’ll go so fast, so easy, if Jonathan lets it.

“Come on, Byers,” Steve says. “Come on. We’ve got you, you can let it happen.”

Jonathan moans and finally, finally, he starts up a rhythm, his hips pushing hard against Steve’s thigh, the strokes starting long and then getting faster, faster. 

It doesn’t take long at all. Steve was right about that.

Once Jonathan really gets a rhythm going, it takes seconds: his hips jerk, fast, then faster, his shoulders shaking, and he buries his head in Steve’s neck. Steve helps him along as good as he can, and shit, but he should’ve insisted on giving Jonathan a handie or something, he wants to see Jonathan’s dick. Wants to touch it. This is good, too, though. Jonathan on top of him, panting, shaking, Steve holding him tight. Fuck, maybe Jonathan will fuck him like this, one day. Steve moans at the thought and Jonathan moans back. He kisses up the side of Jonathan's face, licking at his cheekbones, nipping his nose. Four thrusts, five, ten, and Jonathan starts making noise. Like, a lot of noise. Moaning and groaning and grunting. It makes Steve's heart beat fast, makes his hips grind back against Jonathan's stomach.

“Steve,” Jonathan gasps. 

Steve just pulls him closer, listens to the way Jonathan grunts little _n-uh-uh-ah_ noises against his neck. Jonathan’s hips jerk hard, two more thrusts down, and then it’s just grinding, Jonathan moving his hips from side to side, tiny desperate twists as he shakes and pants. 

Fuck, Jonathan is going to _come_ soon. Any second. Steve knows it.

“Steve, St-uh-Steve,” Jonathan says, hips circling, circling, circling. 

“Yeah,” Steve manages, his throat dry as shit. “Yeah, babe, yeah. Shit, you look so good.”

Jonathan, like, fucking _whimpers,_ or something, Steve doesn’t know what else to call it. He thinks his brain whites out at the noise. Jonathan gives two more short, jerky thrusts and then goes stiff and breakable, his whole body freezing. His back goes so tense it trembles. And then his whole body starts rolling, once, twice, three times; big full-body rolls, orgasmic looking and dramatic.

Just like that, Jonathan collapses limp on Steve’s chest. Steve peppers his face with kisses. Jonathan is gasping and shaking, like he's just run ten miles, like he's just played the longest quarter of his life. Steve pulls his hands out of the back of Jonathan's pants and strokes over his spine, over his damp, sweaty shirt. Shit, Jonathan is so beautiful, all strong lines, sharp edges. He shakes against Steve for a long time. Everything feels quiet, feels hazy. Steve’s dick is throbbing.

“Fuck,” Nancy breathes. Steve rolls his head to look at her and almost comes right there. 

She’s got her hand down her panties and Steve can see her fingers moving, fast. She’s biting her lip and she’s obviously so, so close. 

“Hey, Jonathan,” Steve says, nudging him.

“Mmh,” Jonathan says into Steve’s neck.

“Look at our girl,” Steve says, his voice all breathy. It’s fuckin’ embarrassing but he’ll be embarrassed about it later. Shit, he needs to get off. 

Jonathan’s head whips up. “Fuck,” he whispers, when he sees Nancy.

Nancy throws her head back and comes for a third time, her legs locking, her eyes squeezing shut. She arches up and then collapses, panting. When she opens her eyes and finds both of them staring at her, she flushes. 

“Jesus, I need to get off,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Jonathan breathes. “Yeah, let me—”

Jonathan slides off his chest, squeezing in on his other side so that Steve’s pressed between him and Nancy. Nancy grabs for his belt and the button on his pants immediately and Steve sits back and lets it happen. Jonathan shuffles in, tipping Steve’s chin up so he can suck on his neck. 

Steve lets out a giddy laugh because, because… just _because._ Because he wants to.

Nancy shoves his pants and underwear down to his knees, determined, and Steve lifts his hips to help her. He feels stupid, he feels giddy. Feels so in love he thinks they might be able to see his heart beat right through his chest. She grabs his dick, confident, then says, “wait, shit.”

Steve peers at her. “What?”

“Too dry,” she frowns. Then her eyes light up, and Steve grins because it’s such a classic fucking Nancy Wheeler look. It’s the _I’ve got the answer and I’m a genius for it_ eureka look she gets sometimes. She lets go of his him and reaches for Jonathan, bringing her fingers to his lips. 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says, when Jonathan opens his mouth and sucks her fingers between his lips. His hips jolt up into thin air but he can’t fucking help it, it’s the hottest thing he’s seen in his whole life. Fuck. 

Nancy grins at him, all mischief, and slides her fingers out of Jonathan’s mouth with a wet pop.

“You gonna suck my dick like that, Byers?” Steve asks, mouth just running without his permission, not a damn thought in his head. 

Jonathan snorts, a light, happy sound. “You want me to?”

Steve’s mouth waters. He doesn’t really know what that means but he thinks it’s probably positive. Nancy laughs and grabs his dick again and shit, god damn, this is really not going to take very long. 

“Someone kiss me,” Steve gasps. “Come on, I’m gonna die otherwise—”

Jonathan laughs, half a snort and half a high-pitched giggle. It’s so endearing that Steve smiles, too, and he’s still smiling when Jonathan kisses him. Jonathan slides his tongue between his lips the same moment Nancy twists her wrist, and then Steve’s lost to the feeling.

His whole world narrows down to them, them, them: the way Jonathan’s breathing against his mouth, Nancy’s hair brushing against his stomach, Nancy’s hand warm and tight and damp, moving, moving, moving. Jonathan fists a hand in Steve’s hair and Steve gasps. Nancy bites at his stomach and Steve moans. There’s not a single fucking coherent thought in his head. He’s made of feeling: the feeling of skin on skin, the sweat behind his knees, Nancy’s soft quilt against his back. He scrabbles for something to hold on to, ends up wrapping one hand around Jonathan’s neck and the other around Nancy’s hand on his dick. The feeling builds, builds, builds in the pit of his stomach.

His toes curl. He throws his head back, helpless, helpless, shit, they could do anything to him right now. They could do anything and he’d say thank you, I love you, please do it again. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Jonathan gasps. The words puff wet and hot against Steve’s mouth. Steve sucks on his tongue, feeling wild. 

Nancy bites his stomach. Steve wraps her hand around him tighter. 

“Nance, Nancy, I’m— shit, shit—” Steve gasps, and Nancy nips him again, and Jonathan bites his lip, and then it’s all over.

Steve’s whole spine stiffens up and he can’t breathe, the feeling comes on so fast and strong. His head whites out, or blacks out maybe. He doesn’t know, all he knows is he can’t see or hear or feel anything but _good, good, good._ He feels like he’s flying, like he’s falling faster and harder than he ever has before and never, ever hitting the ground.

When he comes back to his body, his chest is heaving and Jonathan and Nancy are wrapped around him. His hands are shaking. His eyes are, embarrassingly, kind of wet. 

“Hey,” Nancy says, her voice gentle. She’s laying on her side staring at him. Her eyes are big and her eyelashes are dark and her cheeks are flushed and Steve feels like the luckiest bastard in all of Indiana.

Steve breathes. “Hey,” he tells her.

“You alright?” Jonathan says.

Steve tips his head the other direction to look at him. He didn’t think it was possible, but another surge of love, or adoration, or… or other sappy fuckin’ words, swells up inside him, bigger and more intense than the first. God, he loves them both so much. A little part of him wishes he was a poet, wishes he didn’t fucking suck at English, and art, and math. Wishes he could paint them, could write them a thousand poems, or name a fancy-schmancy scientific discovery after them. Something. 

But he’s never been good at any of those things. All he’s ever been good at is moving his own body: running and jumping and lifting and kissing and holding. Swinging bats at monsters.

“Steve?” Nancy says, hesitant. 

“I’m here,” Steve tells her. 

Jonathan nudges his forehead against his. “Talk to us, bud,” Jonathan says.

Steve takes a deep breath and wishes to be better with words and then thinks, well, shit, but he’s done fine enough so far. Right? Probably better to say it plain, anyway. No way for anyone to be confused then. So he licks his lips and boils it all down to the bare-bones essentials. Tells them, “shit, I love you both so much I can hardly believe it. So much I think I’ll explode. Just burn up and die from it.”

Nancy breathes in, sharp, and Jonathan lets out a sigh. Steve smiles. Yeah, there they are: perfect complements. Perfectly in sync. 

Steve chuckles. “Robin’s been fucking unbearable about it.” Fondness wells up in his chest. God, he can’t wait to tell Robin about all this. She’s gonna fuckin’ freak. She’s gonna flip out and scream for _hours._

Neither of them respond but Steve figures that’s alright. He’s grinning, bigger than before, because he can fuckin’ hear Robin in his head, can hear her shrieking, going _and you fucking made fun of me for sleeping with Monica on the first date! At least we fucking had a date, asshole! You can’t ever tell me shit again!_

He’s only been away from her for, like, three hours and he already misses her. Steve feels so, so giddy, and he wants to celebrate with Robin, because Robin’s maybe the only person in the whole world who will know what this means to him, what it means that he gets to hold Nancy and Jonathan like this. What it means to him to have this. His heart is jumping, his mind racing: he’s trying to sort out what he’s going to tell her in what order, thinks maybe he’ll just pick up the phone and say: _so, I fucked Jonathan and Nancy_ and see how high her voice gets.

“Oh, shit,” Jonathan says, his voice startling Steve. “Oh my God I forgot about Robin.” The words come out fast, all in one breath. Nancy flinches a little and Steve stares between them, lost as shit.

“Steve, you have to call her,” Nancy says, biting her lip. Steve nods but gets distracted because her hair is curly, and her skin is glowing with sweat, and he kind of wants to pull her down for... shit, would this be round four for her? Steve wants to make her come again, again, as many times as she wants. _"Steve,_ " Nancy says, her eyes big, and Steve jolts back to himself.

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Steve nods. “Yeah, she’s gonna flip, and I promised I’d call her tonight anyway. But we can stay like this for a while, probably. I don’t know if she’s home yet.” 

Nancy sits upright and Jonathan rolls off the bed, standing and pacing around the room. He looks dumb as fuck and also sexy as hell, with his shirt all sweaty and his own come drying into a stain on his pants. Steve kind of wants to mess him up more. But the expression on his face is panicked, guilty, and that's not a sexy look at all. Steve feels, like, super fucking confused. He forces himself to flip the _Jonathan-and-Nancy-and-orgasms_ switch off in his brain and flip on the _Jonathan-and-Nancy-are-panicking_ one. For the life of him, though, he can’t fucking think of what could be freaking them out. They were fine a second ago. Maybe they’re having second thoughts?

“Talk to me, guys,” Steve says. “What’s up? Why are we freaking out?”

“Steve, we just helped you _cheat on Robin,_ ” Jonathan says, his voice going high and panicked. 

“You have to call Robin right now, come on,” Nancy says, nudging Steve with her bony fingers. 

“Oh, shit,” Steve says, because he fucking _knew_ he was leaving something out. He _knew_ he was forgetting something. But this whole fake dating thing with Robin is easy to forget, honestly. They haven’t been doing it very long and, besides, they don’t have to change the way they act or anything. It requires, like, zero fucking brain power. Steve basically never thinks about it.

Jonathan fists his hands in his hair and Nancy squeezes her eyes shut, the both of them looking so ashamed and stressed it breaks his heart a little. Steve scrambles to fix it.

“No, guys, it’s totally cool,” Steve says. “Like, me and Robin aren’t actually dating.”

Nancy stares at him. Jonathan stops pacing. 

“What?” Nancy asks, perfectly calm.

A shiver runs up Steve’s spine. _Danger, Will Robinson,_ the Robin in his head tells him, gleeful.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says. They stare at him. Steve scrambles to pull his pants back on, zipping his fly as quickly as he can. 

“Explain,” Jonathan says, a little curt. “Please.”

Steve gives him his cheesiest, widest grin. Jonathan furrows his brows. Nancy scowls.

Steve cracks. “It was Robin’s idea,” he blurts, tossing Robin under the bus without any hesitation. “She got sick of people asking about… stuff, or insinuating… things, and so she was like, hey, we should pretend to date, and I was like, sick, sure, whatever you want.”

He clamps his mouth shut because Jesus, Harrington, babble much? But the silence stretches and stretches, Jonathan and Nancy just staring. 

“That’s _it?_ ” Nancy says. “You guys were _faking_ the entire _fucking_ time?”

“Well, like, honestly? I forgot we were supposed to be dating, uh, constantly. So I don’t know how much faking I was really doing.”

“Wait, so you _are_ in love with Robin?” Jonathan asks, sounding just as confused as Steve feels.

“Ew, dude, no. What the fuck?” Steve says.

“You _just_ said you weren’t faking!” Jonathan accuses, throwing his arms up.

“The _romance_ is fake!” Steve says, throwing his arms up right back. “The _love_ is real!”

“Okay, what, so you and Robin are just friends?” Nancy asks, disbelieving. Her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead and her arms are crossed. She’s tense like a piano string, ready to snap. Jonathan’s got his shoulders up by his ears, is hunched over himself protectively. Looking at them makes Steve tense, makes him feel wound up and not in a fun way like earlier.

“Uh, I’d call us _best_ friends,” Steve says defensively, and then takes a breath. This isn't the way to do this. Nothing is going to come out right, if they keep going like this. He takes a second, deeper breath, and then another, pushing all his defensive anger down. 

Jonathan follows, timing his breaths with Steve. Nancy glares between them and then inhales, too, all her breath hissing out on the exhale. Her shoulders slump.

Time to put the cards on the table again and fuck, Steve’s getting tired of this. He’s had about a million hard conversations today, a million different breakdowns. He wants to take a nap, he wants to curl up with Jonathan and Nancy and watch a fucking movie. God, half of this isn’t even his to share. He doesn’t know where that leaves him. 

“Let me explain properly, okay?” Steve says, quiet. “Can we all sit back down?”

Nancy huffs but sits back down beside him, her bare legs crossed. She’s still in just her underwear and Steve’s old basketball sweatshirt. Without thinking, Steve reaches out and pulls her into his lap, tucks her under his chin. She buries her face in his neck and wraps her arms around him. Jonathan collapses on Steve’s other side and wraps his arms around both of them, squeezing tight. Holding both Steve and Nancy like he did at the bowling alley. 

“Don’t get us wrong, Steve, we’re happy you’re not actually dating Robin,” Jonathan says. “Shit, once I process it more I’m gonna be over the moon. But we’re a little confused, bud.”

“It’s not that we don’t believe you,” Nancy says, her voice muffled against his throat. “It’s just that you guys were… really convincing.”

Steve breathes out, really slow, and starts talking. He picks his words so, so careful, weighs every one in his head before saying it out loud. “Robin doesn’t want to… Robin’s been… shit, guys, Robin’s been in a tough spot for a while. And I can’t tell you about that, not really, but the best solution was for us to pretend to date.”

He’s not telling them about Robin being a lesbian. He can’t, even though he’s pretty sure Nancy would be fine with it and Jonathan would have to be one hell of a hypocrite to be pissed at Robin for being gay after coming all over Steve’s thigh. But it’s not his secret to tell: it’s Robin’s, and Steve would die before he betrayed any part of Robin’s trust. 

“It was easy, too,” Steve says, leaning further into Jonathan and holding Nancy a little tighter. “Me and Robin… I really mean everything I’ve told you guys about her. She’s my best friend, the fucking sun in my sky, the bread to my butter. All that cheesy shit. She’s family, you know? I love her as much as I’ve ever loved anybody or anything. I’d give her the whole world if she asked; pretending to date her was nothing.”

“That sounds kind of romantic, Steve,” Nancy tells him, her voice small. 

Steve laughs. “It does, a little,” he acknowledges. “But it’s not. It’s… it’s different, it’s so different. I can’t explain it right. She’s my rock, you know? I don’t love her more than you guys or anything. I couldn’t ever! I just… I love you different.” He licks his lips and thinks for a while.

For a split second, a half a moment, he’s in the woods walking between train tracks, leaves crunching, with Dustin at his side. His own voice drifts past him, good-humored and patient. _It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it but you can feel it. Like this, uh… electricity?_

“Being with you guys is like grabbing lightning,” Steve says.

“What?” Jonathan asks, startled.

“Electrifying,” Steve smiles. “Makes every part of me feel tingly, all charged up. Makes my hair stand on end. The two of you light me up.”

It’s quiet and Steve bites his lip while they mull his words over.

“Wow,” Jonathan says. His voice sounds thick, like he’s all choked up. 

When Steve turns his head to look, Jonathan’s eyes are shining. He looks touched, like Steve’s said something amazing, like Steve’s said the best thing he’s ever heard. Steve’s heart squeezes in his chest. 

Nancy breathes out, hard, against his throat. “Sometimes you say things and it makes me want to… to just. Keep you with me like this forever.”

“Hide him in your basement?” Jonathan asks. Steve can hear his smile.

“Something like that,” Nancy says. Steve can _feel_ it, when she smiles.

Steve grins and feels something settle into place in his chest. Just snap right in, permanent and easy. “Alright.”

Nancy raises her eyebrows. “Alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Let’s do the damn thing.” He can't stop smiling.

“Steve, you know you can’t actually live in my basement.” Nancy tells him, but her voice arcs up at the end, like she’s not sure he actually knows.

She’s nuzzled in so close he can feel her lips move when she talks. Can feel the soft brushes of her mouth against his skin, soft enough to make him cry, maybe. Jonathan’s arms are strong and kind of noodle-y, and Steve wants to stay wrapped in them forever, forever. And he means it, too. Really, honestly does. Imagines forever all stretched out in front of him: the rest of their school year, everyone in separate places, and then college, and then their first jobs, their first house, their first broken faucet, first leaking roof, first blowout fight, first big apology, their five year anniversary. Their first kid, maybe. Their first niece or nephew. First birthdays, fifth birthdays, first day of kindergarten, of middle school. Their first gray hairs, their first old-person glasses and back pains and bald spots. The cracking knees and the arthritis Steve knows, knows he's going to get. And he thinks again, more firmly this time; _yeah, alright. Let's do the damn thing._

“I'm not talking about living in your basement,” Steve says. He takes a big breath and screws his courage to the fucking sticking place again, again, again. Always again, and always for them. _"This._ Let’s do… let’s do this. Let’s be together like this. The three of us.”

“What—?” Nancy says, startled, leaning back so she can look at him. 

“Yes,” Jonathan blurts, his arms squeezing around Steve’s waist and Nancy’s back. “Yes, yes. Let’s do that.” 

Jonathan sounds giddy, so boyishly eager that it’s contagious. Steve’s never heard Jonathan like this, not really. He sounds so… excited. All lit up. Steve’s chest catches on fire in response and he knows it’s not going to ever go out. That he’ll just burn for Jonathan his whole life. That he’ll burn for both of them.

He’s fine with that.

Nancy laughs, a bright burst of joy, so high and cheerful it knocks the wind out of Steve’s chest. She looks younger, suddenly, looks like the pretty girl he first started flirting with in English class, the one that cheered for him at his games, the one that held a gun to his head and told him to get out, get out, and then held him so, so tight when he came back.

“Is that a yes?” Steve asks, gleeful, hauling her back in so quickly they knock Jonathan over. They all tumble off the bed in a heap, landing hard on the carpet, elbows and knees in soft spots. 

Nancy shrieks and then dissolves into laughter and Jonathan giggles his stupid fucking high pitched giggle and Steve loves them, loves them, loves them. The feeling is so overwhelming he can’t find words for it. All he can do is laugh.

“Yes it’s a yes,” Nancy finally gasps, still laughing. “Yes, oh my God. Yes.”

“Cool,” Steve grins.

 _“Cool,_ ” Jonathan echoes, mocking. Still smiling.

“Shut up, Byers,” Steve tells him, feeling lighter than a balloon. Feeling like he could just float right away.

Jonathan kisses him, hovering above Steve and pressing their mouths together hard, like he’s all out of words, like he can only get his feelings out through gestures. Through moving. Steve knows the feeling. He knows the feeling so well and intimately it feels like knowing Jonathan. Jonathan’s shirt is wrinkled, his hair greasy with sweat, his forehead and cheeks lined from his smile. He looks like himself. He looks beautiful.

Nancy kneels up, still in just her underwear and Steve’s old sweatshirt, and Steve reaches out to grab her hand. She holds his, gentle, and then Steve quirks his eyebrows and pulls her in, sudden and fast and with all his strength. She hollers and slaps his chest and then smiles, stunning. She looks happy. She looks so, so happy.

They stay like that, laying on Nancy’s floor, for a long time. So long Steve thinks he’ll get rug burn on his elbows, thinks Nancy’s bare knees might get rubbed raw, thinks that Jonathan’s crusted-over underwear and pants must itch like hell. But they don’t move.

They don’t move, just stay collapsed in a pile, limb on limb on limb, breath syncing up. It feels good. It feels easy. 

When the door bangs open downstairs, and a herd of screaming kids trample down to the basement, Steve laughs while Nancy groans and Jonathan huffs. They straighten themselves out as good as they can: Nancy throws on pants and a new sweater, and Steve finishes buckling his belt, and Jonathan takes Steve’s old sweatshirt from Nancy and ties it around his waist.

“Alright,” Nancy says, frowning into her mirror. She pulls her hair into a ponytail then turns to look at them. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” Steve tells her. His heart thumps. “You’re beautiful, Nancy Wheeler.”

She smiles at him, her eyes big, and soft, and loving. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” she returns, automatic. She takes a breath. “And I love you.”

“You’re both beautiful,” Jonathan says, gazing at them. His hands twitch. “Come on, the kids’ll be looking for us soon. And I want to get my camera.”

“What do you need your camera for?” Nancy says, rolling her eyes. She slips her hand into Jonathan’s anyway, then reaches across Jonathan’s body to grab Steve’s hand, too. It’s kind of awkward but not in a bad way. Never in a bad way.

“I want to take a picture of you guys,” Jonathan says, tucking Steve into his other side. “It’ll be good. We’ll want it in a few years.” He sounds certain. Steady. This is how it’s gonna be: Jonathan holding them close, him and Nancy smiling at each other, stroking fingers and cheeks and hair. All of them clinging. This is how it’s gonna be.

Steve can’t fucking wait. 

“Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy,” Nancy says, waving her hand in front of her like she’s labeling an imaginary polaroid. “Day one.”

“Day one of what?” Steve asks.

Jonathan shrugs. Steve can feel his shoulders move. They slide sideways out of the door, none of them willing to let go of each other. They stomp down the stairs together, their bare feet soft against the carpet. 

“Day one of forever,” Jonathan answers. “The rest of our lives.”

“That’s fuckin' corny, man,” Steve says, tearing up. Just a fucking little.

“Whatever, Steve,” Jonathan smiles.

Steve sneaks in two more kisses before they reach the landing, smacking one on Jonathan and one on Nancy. Just because he can. 

“Alright, fine,” Steve says. “Day one of forever. Here we go.”

“Hey, Steve!” Dustin hollers from the basement, so loud he nearly shakes the goddamn house down. “Are you here?”

“Yeah!” Steve shouts back.

Jonathan and Nancy let go of Steve and clamp their hands over their ears.

“Can you bring us snacks?” Max screams.

”Popcorn!” Mike hollers.

”Ignore him, we want candy!” Will yells.

”Yeah, we want candy!” El shouts, before tacking on a “please!” 

“Yeah, Mike, shut up—”

 _“You_ shut up, Lucas—”

Jonathan snorts and Nancy giggles, then laughs so hard she has to sit down on the steps. Steve stares at them, betrayed. 

“Get your own goddamn snacks!” He shouts, even though he’s already mentally reviewing what he remembers of Nancy’s kitchen, is already thinking about what he should cook everyone for dinner. Because he can do that now: take over Nancy’s kitchen and start cooking. Maybe Jonathan will help.

“How do you feel about lasagna?” He asks Nancy, quiet so the kids don’t hear. They’ve got ears like fucking bats: he wouldn’t put it past them to hear the word _lasagna_ even all the way from the basement. 

“Love it,” Nancy responds. 

“You’re cooking for us?” Jonathan asks. He sounds excited.

“Oh, man,” Steve says. “You guys are in for a treat. Sit on down, babe. Babes. God, that’s gonna be weird.” 

It’s gonna be _great._

“I can help,” Jonathan says. “I mean, if you want. Just if you want.”

“Of course I want you to,” Steve tells him. He lets go of Nancy and wraps his arms around Jonathan’s waist from behind then starts walking him toward the kitchen. Nancy follows, one of her fingers hooked into Steve’s belt loop.

“I’m not helping,” Nancy says. 

“I didn’t want you to,” Steve reassures her with a snort. “I fuckin’ remember the last time you tried to help me with this. You’re gonna sit at the counter and not touch anything.” 

“Wait, what happened last time?” Jonathan asks.

“Oh my fuckin' God, okay, so last time—”

“It was _not_ that bad. Jonathan, don’t listen to—”

Below them, the kids scream at each other and something crashes. Nancy sighs. All the kids go suspiciously quiet and then the yelling starts up again all at once. If he tries, Steve can pick out their individual voices. Jonathan shakes his head and starts pulling out cheese and sauce. Steve flips the pre-heat knob on the oven and the coils turn red and faintly warm. Nancy hops onto the counter and crosses her legs. Every so often, the house shakes because of the kids jumping around in the basement. Steve starts laying the long noodles in the pan, starts telling Jonathan about the last time he and Nancy cooked together.

Slowly, the kitchen warms up, the windows frosting with the heat. It’s loud in the house, the noise buzzing in the background soothingly. Everything smells like cheese and garlic and tomato. Steve’s heart beats, beats, beats in his chest, and Jonathan’s hands are strong next to his on the cutting board, and Nancy is humming a little under her breath. It’s ABBA. _Take a chance on me._

Steve laughs. “That’s Robin’s fucking favorite song. She sung it for a week straight one time.”

“Yeah?” Nancy asks, and the way she says it is different. She says it like she’s genuinely intrigued, like she wants to know more about Robin. Curious as she always is.

“You should invite her for dinner,” Jonathan says, carefully sprinkling cheese over the lasagna. 

Steve slices another tomato and smiles. “I was gonna do that anyway.”

Jonathan laughs. “Of course you were.” 

“I want to meet her,” Nancy says, bouncing on the counter.

“Nance, babe, you’ve literally met her _three_ separate times,” Steve says. 

“I know, but I didn’t do it _properly,_ ” Nancy says.

Steve just laughs and nudges Jonathan out of the way so he can add another layer of pasta to the lasagna. Nancy starts humming again and Steve smiles and sings out, “if you need me, let me know, I’m gonna be around.”

Jonathan groans. 

Outside, it starts to snow.

Steve and Robin’s phone call goes like this:

“Robs, hey, are you hungry? Come over to Nancy’s, I’m cooking dinner.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude—”

“You couldn’t ever. Not in a million fucking years.”

“I don’t know, Steve, it’s kind of late and it’s snowing—”

“Robs, if you don’t come here I’m coming to you.”

“...Really?”

“Really. I want you here. Shit, Robin, we’re family. Alright? We’re family. Come over for dinner. It’s cold as shit in your house anyway.”

“Your house isn’t any fuckin’ better, Harrington.”

“I know. But it’s crazy over here, Robs: every room in this house is so goddamn warm. It’s like it’s not winter at all. And it’s _loud._ All these fucking kids running around.”

“Jesus, dingus, twist my arm. Fine! I’m coming over! But you’d better be cooking something good—”

“Of course I am, who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Get _over_ here already.”

“Fine, whatever. I’m coming. Hey, I’m proud of you, do you know that?”

“For fuckin’ what, Robin? I haven’t told you anything—”

“You sound really happy.”

“...huh.”

“Steve? You okay?”

“Yeah. I just… God, you’re my best friend. I love you so fuckin’ much, you know that? I want you over here. Max and El want to talk to you about Wonder Woman, and Jon and Nance want to ask you some shit about learning Russian. Well, Nancy does. I think Jonathan wants to ask about some underground rock thing you mentioned at bowling. It’s gonna be great, alright? It’s gonna be… Robin, it’s gonna be really good. I’ve got a good feeling about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you do not have to be good.  
> you do not have to walk on your knees  
> for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.  
> you only have to let the soft animal of your body  
> love what it loves.  
> tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.  
> meanwhile the world goes on.
> 
> whoever you are, no matter how lonely,  
> the world offers itself to your imagination,  
> calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -  
> over and over announcing your place  
> in the family of things.
> 
> -mary oliver, wild geese.


End file.
